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cienie-isengardu · 4 months

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[MK1] Bi-Han & Kuai Liang. Good brother? Evil brother? Nah, just different reactions to trauma, part 4

part 1, part 2, part 3

Sources provided a clear difference how brothers felt about their father. For Kuai Liang, the man was a cherished parent AND authority figure he built his life around. For Bi-Han, father (and mimicking him grieving Scorpion) was a source of frustration and limitation he did not agree with. Bi-Han and Tomas definitely had a more complex relationship with their father than Kuai Liang did.

So far, we got only little bits in regard to mother and her influences on brothers and Lin Kuei politics but enough to see how Sub-Zero and Scorpion’s relationship with her differ from how they felt about father.

Before I will dwell on those relationships I would like to point out a small detail noticed during my research: so far there is no direct mention that the mother was in fact a wife of Grandmaster. She is either referred to as a mother or parent - which makes sense, because her importance is related to the brothers, not to their father, so it would be weird if Bi-Han, Tomas or Kuai Liang talked about her as the “wife of Grandmaster”. At the same time, the lack of implication of marriage bond between mother and father[1] and how she is refered feels similar to the obscure reference from original timeline:

Born in America, Sub-Zero was the oldest of three children, which included a brother and sister. Their mother wanted a normal life for her sons, who had already been chosen by the Lin Kuei to become warriors for the clan. She tried in vein to hide them from their father whose own life in America was only a cover for his true identity and purpose. Eventually they were found and their father returned with them to his homeland. Their mother and sister were never seen or heard from again. (x)

Due to this, I decided to not describe her as the wife or supposed wife of Grandmaster and stick just to provided by sources terms of mother, parent and Lin Kuei fighter - so in advance sorry for repetition of those words. At the same time, this specific way of including the mother in Bi-Han, Tomas and Kuai Liang’s story creates a possibility of a more complicated family relationship, both between brothers and their parents or between the mother and father alone. And as a result the whole Lin Kuei inner politics, as we already have a hint of its complexity due to Cyrax and Sektor's loyalty to Sub-Zero threatening Kuai Liang’s birthright to the title of Grandmaster. Keeping it in mind, here are some of my thoughts and conclusions about the mother and her sons.

Let’s start with Kuai Liang. There is no doubt he respected and deeply cared for father’s teaching. As I hopefully proved in the previous part, there is a solid reason to think that the loss of a cherished parent affected Scorpion to the point that grief influenced his behavior (mimicking father) and in result, relationship with brothers (barely talking with them if it didn’t involve father or tradition up to Sub-Zero’s betrayal). He expressed a burning anger at Bi-Han for letting their father die.

Kuai Liang doesn’t seem to have the same emotional bond with mother.

Sindel: Both your parents were excellent fighters. Scorpion: I can only hope to live up to their example.

Like yes, he will acknowledge Sindel’s opinion and hope to be good as his parents but that is like the only one time we hear him saying anything about mother - and even then, she is mentioned alongside the cherished father.

Mind you, this is solely my impression, but this intro reminds me of film scenes in which a character is told by others about a parent they had never had the chance to meet or know too well. It may be a wrong impression, but there is something about Kuai Liang’s response that makes me wonder how old he was when mother died and if he lost a parent at a young age, did it fuel his deep dedication to father as there was no other authority figure to influence him as a person?

Granted, both Kuai Liang and Bi-Han never bring mother first in their intro dialogues - what A) says a lot about their upbringing and B) differs from some mentions of father. But in Scorpion’s intro there is hardly anything truly personal about his bond with mother, or her personal feelings on Lin Kuei duty, especially when compared to those focused on the previous Grandmaster.

In contrast, we have interaction between Tomas and Bi-Han:

Smoke: If Mother were alive -- Sub-Zero: She would applaud my actions.

Tomas and Bi-Han may have a different idea of how mother would react to their brotherly conflict, but both talk about her in a more personal way. Tomas invokes her the same way he brings father into discussion:

story mode: "Were he here, Father would advise us to wait without protest."

Sub-Zero: You were never truly one of us. Smoke: Were Father here, he would disagree.

So we can assume mother had an impact on Tomas as he respected her as an authority figure similar to father. Alternatively, he thinks Bi-Han is more likely to listen about mother than anything he will say about their father.

The letter part would be an interesting parallel between Tomas and Bi-Han, because Smoke himself is implied to grow up without a father or not being close to his biological parent - when talking about his original family Smoke directly mentioned so far only mother and his twin sister.

Also, the same as happened with father in intro dialogues, Kuai Liang and Tomas do not talk about their Lin Kuei mother. Scorpion claimed that Tomas never mention his biological mother and sister:

Scorpion: You never speak of your mother and sister. Smoke: Their ghosts no longer haunt me, Kuai Liang.

but as the other intro dialogues proved, Tomas does talk about them directly and indirectly with some characters,

like Kitana,

Smoke: My sister was my twin. Kitana: How it must have hurt to lose her.

Tanya (priestess warrior)

Smoke: After losing my family, I lost my faith. Tanya: It's the only thing that can sustain you, Tomas.

and Liu Kang (Fire Lord who may be responsible for their death)

Liu Kang: I cannot bring back your family, Tomas. Smoke: You can't or you won't?

Like I said before, it is impossible to tell for sure about which mother, biological or adoptive, Smoke was speaking, but as he claimed Li Mei resemble him mother

Li Mei: I remind you of your mother? Smoke: No-nonsense and tough as nails, just like her.

I personally assume he meant the adoptive one, as according to Smoke’s ending he lived with the Lin Kuei family for around 15 years. Logically thinking he would have more clear memories of her than about the biological parent he lost in childhood. We of course have no idea when - and how - his Lin Kuei mother died, but if I’m right in my assumption, then Tomas is providing vital insight into what kind of person she was. As Tomas said, a tough and no-nonsense woman and that fits perfectly the image of an excellent Lin Kuei fighter, because frankly, Bi-Han and Kuai Liang easily fit that description too. As presumably, the majority of Lin Kuei warriors.

Another thing to note, the adoptive mother is not identified by Tomas with kindness, comfort or warmth or anything most people usually associate mothers with. This of course does not mean his adoptive mother didn’t love him or was a bad parent but may give us an idea what it felt to grow up in a clan primarily focused on training warriors. A purpose that definitely affected how people interacted with each other and what was expected from children.

However the most interesting thing about Tomas considering Li Mei to be similar to adoptive mother is the fact that from all possible female fighters, he identifies mother with a woman forced into and shaped by Umgadi system of servitude but who found her true purpose outside said system.

Kitana: Resuming your old role is a waste of material. Li Mei: Being First Constable is my first, best destiny.

Liu Kang: I hear the Umgadi want you back. Li Mei: I prefer to remain First Constable.

And this finally led me to the eldest brother and Sub-Zero’s statement that mother “would applaud me”.

Bi-Han outright claims mother would be proud of him and logically thinking, supportive of his choices. Which is a drastic contrast to how he perceives father as he did call the man a fool that doomed Lin Kuei.

And here comes an important thing: though sources barely provide us an idea who Bi-Han’s mother was in original timeline - a Lin Kuei herself who knew what lay ahead of her sons already chosen by the clan or just a woman that was unlucky to meet and have three children with an assassin working undercover in America - she was literally the only person that tried to give Bi-Han and Kuai Liang a normal, safe life. This woman, whoever she was, challenged a powerful assassin clan to save her two sons and daughter and was presumably killed alongside the daughter by Bi-Han’s father. This definitely affected Bi-Han’s worldview and interestingly, the sources have never implied Sub-Zero had any strong emotional ties with his father.

Mythologies Sub-Zero’s backstory mentions only Bi-Han and Kuai Liang being kidnapped against mother’s will, that cryomancy was passed down to Bi-Han from father, that he took his place and mantle when the man died and that is basically all we know about their relationship.

Between brothers, it is always Kuai Liang to mention other male members of their family with respect, as can be seen with new timeline Scorpion and alternative timeline Kuai Liang:

Sub-Zero: I disown you in every way. Noob Saibot: Then disown my name, 'Sub-Zero'. Sub-Zero: The name was Grandfather's first.

and

Sub-Zero: Grandfather? Sub-Zero: Defeat me to earn my mantle. Sub-Zero: You honor me with your kombat.

despite the possibility that said Grandfather may be the one that kidnapped brothers to enroll them into the Lin Kuei clan, while Bi-Han as a Noob Saibot was the one bringing their mother, even if just to be sarcastic/ironic:

Noob Saibot: You disappoint me. Sub-Zero: The feeling is mutual, brother. Noob Saibot: Mother would be so proud.

and on two separate occasions talked to Jacqui about her mom that passed shortly before MK11’s events:

Noob Saibot: Vera's soul calls you. Jacqui: Keep mama's name out your mouth, Revenant! Noob Saibot: Revenant? I am Wraith!

and

Noob Saibot: Return to your mother's arms. Jacqui: She's dead, asshole. Noob Saibot: And her soul is mine.

and isn’t it a surprisingly similar thing to current timeline Bi-Han talking to Kitana and Mileena about their dead mother?

And yes, Liu Kang’s timeline is a fresh start and a lot of things have changed but some elements seem to repeat themselves, whether the Keeper of Time agrees with it or not. Which is why I think mother - and her fate - again deeply influenced Bi-Han, the same as he was influenced in the original timeline by her desperate attempt to save him and Kuai Liang from Lin Kuei bondage.

Bi-Han claimed mother would applaud his action, so she may herself feel resentment for Grandmaster’s idea of tradition and duty to Earthrealm and that resentment was passed down to her eldest son. Alternatively, it was her death that made Sub-Zero question both the nature of the relationship between Lin Kuei and Fire Lord and his father’s wisdom.

This leads me to another detail that may not be intentional on NRS’s part but it is repeated through the sources. The same as mother is never said to be the wife of Grandmaster - what admittedly is the most logical assumption for a traditional (patriarchal) clan as a way to secure the line of legal heir from proper marriage - the decision of adopting Tomas was made solely by Grandmaster. And so we have:

Smoke’s bio: As a boy, Smoke lived to hunt with his family. Their final hunt, however, ended in tragedy. Having accidentally trespassed onto Lin Kuei lands, they were attacked. Smoke was orphaned. Ashamed by his warriors' actions, the Lin Kuei's Grandmaster adopted Smoke. He raised him alongside his sons, Sub-Zero and Scorpion.

and

Kitana: You are Kuai Liang's adopted brother? Smoke: His father's honor demanded that he take me in.

and

Reptile: Lucky for you, Kuai Liang's father took you in. Smoke: It didn't feel that way at the time.

Bi-Han, story mode: Mind your place, Tomas. Father may have taken you in, made you one of us… but your blood will never be Lin Kuei.

As I talked before about Bi-Han and Tomas forced brotherhood on different occasion it struck me how the adoption resolved mainly around father’s selfish reasons like saving his honor and erasing the feeling of guilt rather the boy’s safety and emotional health. There is something truly disturbing about forcing a child to be part of clan that murdered his family over a trivial matter. But there is also something disturbing about how the mother had no say in the adoption of Tomas, as there isn’t any hint the man consulted that with her. Now, it is understandable that in a very traditional (patriarchy) clan the father, as the Grandmaster and head of his family, could make decisions without consultation with others, including his own wife or children. But usually people who love or at least mutually respect each other discuss the vital matters before making decisions whose consequences will have such a great impact on their and their children’s life. Adopting a child, so greatly traumatized and from totally foreign culture, is something that should be a joint decision of father and mother if both were supposed to raise said kid alongside their own. In that regard the father comes off badly, not only by how sources made his reasoning selfish (“his honor demanded”, “Ashamed by his warriors' actions”, “father wanted us to be brothers”) but also how uncaring he was toward the mother of his children, especially compared to Sindel and Jerrord.

We have no idea if Bi-Han’s father and mother were in love or were forced into a relationship by demands of tradition, maybe even through arranged marriage. But we have Sindel that though married Jerrord as a means to ensure peace,

Sindel's Bio: When Sindel ascended to Outworld's throne, she worried that she was ill-prepared. Adding to her stress: her impending arranged marriage to Jerrod, an Outworld noble. Forced into it to placate a rebellious region, Sindel could only pray that he was worthy. To Sindel’s delight, Jerrod proved an ideal partner.

she was loved, respected and supported by her husband and the feeling was mutual.

So far there is little suggesting Bi-Han’s mother had any real influence over Lin Kuei’s politics or that Grandmaster sought out her advice. She is not called the wife of Grandmaster, a title suggesting some high social position and so far only Sindel's remark gives us any idea what her role in clan could be. Liu Kang and Scorpion do not bring her dedication to Earthrealm and duty as a counterargument to Bi-Han’s resentment the way they talk about previous Grandmaster’s teaching and wisdom. She is pretty much removed from the picture and only Sindel and Tomas bothered to mention her at all. Sindel by praising Kuai Liang’s both parents as excellent fighters and Tomas by recalling her authority - the only one that Bi-Han seems to agree with, as according to him reclaiming Lin Kuei independence is what would please his mother.

If Tomas and Bi-Han have such a different idea of mother, the first question coming to mind is which brother speaks truth and which one is delusional. However I think that is not right question, because mother could not to speak about her desire to gain independence for Lin Kuei with Tomas - not because she didn’t love or accept the boy as her own, but because the orphan, as not born into clan, could not understand fully the Lin Kuei situation. Especially not when little Tomas was mourning the killed family and not when it became clear he and adoptive father became close.

Another thing worth to examine is the possibility that Bi-Han, consciously or not, also associates Li Mei with his mother, as

he clearly respect her, a former Umgadi turned into First Constable, more than Tanya, the current leader of priestess warriors:

Sub-Zero: No one in your order can defeat a Lin Kuei. Tanya: A nescient boast which is easily disproven.

Sub-Zero: Mileena sends a bodyguard, not a warrior? Tanya: Underestimate me at your peril, Sub-Zero.

Sub-Zero: I hear your skills are formidable. Li Mei: As are those of all who have been Umgadi.

he encourages Li Mei to stop serve Royal Family and govern themselves

Sub-Zero: Your constables could also govern. Li Mei: We are sworn only to protect and serve.

something he usually does not do, as Sub-Zero has no interest in people outside Lin Kuei.

I’m painfully aware there is not enough source material to have clear conclusions and many of my thoughts are based on guesswork and comparative analysis. That said, I do think that as death of father deeply influenced Kuai Liang, the same happened with Bi-Han when their mother presumably was killed on duty. We have no idea what is the age gap between brothers, however I do think that Kuai Liang, as the younger brother, could not have a chance to know their mother well so all his devotion was focused on the living parent that raised him. If the mother personally wished for or actively supported Lin Kuei independence, she could do so as a way to ensure her children will have a better life than endless servitude, the same way the original timeline incarnation tried to save her sons from servitude to the assassin clan. In that case, Bi-Han was raised with an additional influence that shaped his mindset about his duty to clan above duty to Liu Kang and Earthrealm. If mother’s death was somehow the fault of Grandmaster and/or Fire Lord, as in, they sent her on ill-fated mission, it could be the origin of Bi-Han’s resentment against both men.

There is much more to say about the conflict between tradition vs independence and I for sure will talk about that soon, but the next part will be focused on POWER.

SIDENOTES:

[1] Alternative timeline seems the closest to presenting Bi-Han and Kuai Liang’s parents as the “normal family” as both look devastated when their children were kidnapped by Lin Kuei.

At the same time, MK11’s intro dialogues of Sub-Zero and Noob suggests their grandfather was once a Sub-Zero himself, with raises a question how much their parents were aware of danger from the assassin clan and if any of them were a Lin Kuei themselves.

#mortal kombat #bi han #sub zero #smoke #kuai liang #scorpion #tomas vrbada #li mei #bi han and kuai liang's mother #deserves so much better #the weirdest conclusion so far is how tomas provides more insight into kuai liang and bi han's mom than kuai liang alone #and how intros use smoke to compare female characters sidetracked by narrative (lin kuei mother and harumi) to women from game #also i don't wanna see bi han tomas and kuai liang's father as an abusive and/or despotic parent #but the sources doesn't paint him much in good light when there is jarrod to compare #i did not talk about the possibility that mom could be cryomancer herself and have this special bond with bi han due to shared ice powers #because there is barely anything how ice powers works in this timeline ;/

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pagetreader · 7 months

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@honorhearted {x}

It had all begun as a civil meeting of diplomacy that had quickly turned into an ugly hostage scenario. Now her escorts and the ambassador were all dead and she was being used as a pawn in the desperate acts of unruly colonials.

A warm room with four walls and windows couldn't fool her. The 'accommodations' of her quarters may have been a comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless.

While rebel soldiers littered Valley Forge, huddled and shivering until their digits froze off, Dae.nerys found she had little sympathy for them like she had when she'd visited her father's forces. The Royal Army fought for order, while the rebels were stubborn children attempting to wait out the weather in hopes their parent nation would cave first.

She scrutinized her betrothed intently, wondering what had led Washington to choose this man in particular. No doubt he was of high rank in his circle, trusted enough to carry out his duty. Whatever the case, he was her enemy. Everyone here was her enemy.

Having tired of gazing out the window, she sat in the corner of the room, defiantly refusing to eat what had been brought to her. It would only serve to make her feel sick anyway. More so than she already did.

"Forgive me, princess, but seeing how I, too, am being wrangled into this whole affair, I can't quite seem to muster the appropriate sympathies."

Major Tall.madge crossed the room and took her former place at the window, appearing to make an effort not to have to look in her direction. Clearly, he was just as disgusted with the matter as she was. At least that much they could agree on.

"Unfortunately, everyone will require proof of our consummation. What should've been a joyous, extraordinary moment in our lives is now tainted, public, and though neither of us can help whose families we were born into, it should come as no shock that I detest yours."

"Perhaps it could have been joyous and extraordinary for you once, but my fate has always entailed a political marriage," she answered plainly, seeing no use in arguing with a man who would shout black when she said white, "Think what you will of my family. I am not my father."

It didn't matter, of course. She had never been, nor would she ever be in any real position of power. It was only in name that she proved of any use to anyone -- and even then she was merely a pawn, nothing more. Evidently, he thought the same of himself.

"My friends, my brother all died fighting to be free of your father's t.yranny. If anyone in this room is a puppet, it is myself…I'm acting as the final s.acrifice to swing this w.ar in our favor."

"I cannot say what sort of men your friends were, nor your brother, but if you wish for change, why do you insist on campaigning for it by enacting such violence?"

Perhaps that was a ridiculous question, considering House Tar.garyen, who had ruled England for centuries, lived and died by the severity of their family's maxim: Fi.re and Bl.ood.

"You cannot rightly deny it. I've seen the tarring and beatings your men have inflicted upon those who are still loyal to the crown."

#honorhearted #a loathsome union

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rainbow-femme · 7 months

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My grandma on my dads side and an aunt on my moms side both did a ton of family genealogy that I have access to and love going through. I mentioned it to a friend once and he immediately did the “yeah I don’t care about that stuff, I’m not defined by my ancestors I’m defined by me”

And I was just like?? I’m not saying I’m basing my personality on dead distant relatives, I’m saying I like history and there’s something very meaningful to me in learning about the lives of regular people that eventually lead to me existing

Like the guy who was a royal physician but ended up moving to Massachusetts for reasons we don’t know

Or the Union soldier whose letters to his wife we have and they’re very sweet as they clearly miss each other

Or the teenage girl who was sent from Ireland to live with family in the US because she got pregnant, and the assumption was she’d go back home after she had the baby, only she fell in love with an American and married him and he raised the baby as his

Or the woman who lived in Scotland for a time and Ireland for a time but openly and vehemently refused to say which she was born in, and no one knows why that was such an important secret for her because she also wouldn’t talk about anything that happened in either place

Or the man who worked as a chauffeur whose dying wish was to be buried in a suit, because he wore one every day for work but had never been able to own one himself. He also hated his brother in law, but when he died the family couldn’t afford to buy a suit just to bury him in and the brother in law was the only one who owned a suit so he gave it to the dead man who hated him to appease his last wish

Or my great great grandfather who worked on houses and was married to my great great grandmother who always wanted a nice wall papered kitchen, but they couldn’t afford it, so he would save scraps of wallpaper left over from jobs and use that, giving them a kitchen with a hundred different kinds of wallpaper

Or the fact that those two only got married because he was hitchhiking and her sister thought he was cute and let him stay the night in the couch, but he saw my great great grandma come down the stairs the next morning and fell for her and asked their father if he could work on their farm so he could court her

Or how that great great grandmother had 10 pregnancies and 10 healthy deliveries, the last at 48, and the family joke was you could drop her off the Empire State Building and she’d still carry a baby to term

Like those don’t matter because they have an impact on me personally, they matter because they were interesting real people who existed over centuries and they feel so much like normal people today, and there’s something really meaningful to me about seeing that human connection through time and still valuing the things that made them who they were

I mean, can you imagine writing to your wife from a war camp in the 1800s about how your chronic headaches are bothering you again so you’re going to play [I think something similar to soccer? He just called it ball idk] to forget about it and have that be something a descendant almost 200 years later reads who also gets chronic headaches and relates to you specifically through time? Or to have your quirks and idiosyncrasies be things your family still mentions and laughs about because you’re not just a name to them but still you?

I dunno, I just think there’s a difference between people defining themselves by ancestry and having a historical appreciation for people you were related to hundreds of years before, and enjoying all the parts of yourself you see in them. Even if it is chronic headaches because apparently it’s his fault we all get them

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melancholysway · 2 years

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Serendipity (2007!Raphael x Fem!Reader) 9

Chapter IX: I Love You

NOTE: There are NSFW mature themes towards the end, there's a warning before hand, so you'll know and can choose not to read.

Chapter Key:

——— = a flashback is happening or ending ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ or ====

= perspective change

~ = small time skip

---

You shift in the seat cushion of the chair, feeling slightly relieved after today's session.

You tap your fingers into the wooden armrests, smiling at the familiar jet-black-haired lady, whose red lips curl into a smile as well, her early showing wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“You did a great job.”

The woman you’ve come accustomed to seeing once a week on Friday mornings sighs with contentment, “Y/n, you did a great job. I was simply here to listen and provide you with the steps to heal and move past those horrible experiences you’ve had.”

You are nearing the end of your discussion and final session with her, but she’s helped you so much with time.

Half a year has passed since the last major events in your life. Donatello had put up a different type of glass for you that won’t shatter at all, which you were extremely grateful for.

You assumed that Raphael’s gestures and open arms would be able to help you fully heal. Master Splinter helped as well, he listened to you talk about the situation.

You see, having two traumatic instances where you possibly could’ve died is not something that goes away easily. It shakes you mentally and sometimes leaves you with PTSD. You truly thought you were doing just fine with Raphael soothing and helping you on the night the man broke in, as well as the very first incident of almost being assaulted. However, sometimes, you have to get help from another source.

It started small, where loud noises caused you to become startled and you automatically would freeze up. However, the first major episode was in the Lair, when Mikey accidentally dropped a box of lightbulbs, causing them all to shatter on the floor.

—-

“And now we just…steady…MIKEY! STEADY!” Donnie exclaims to his younger brother as he watches the lightbulb fall to the ground. He was fixing a lamp from Mikey’s room, and the orange-clad turtle wanted to be all handy and help out. Donnie (reluctantly) agreed, knowing that at least one bad thing would happen during a seemingly easy task.

At this time, You were learning self-defense lessons from Splinter, along with Leo and Raph. It was very quiet throughout the Dojo and even the whole Lair, only the grunts and sounds of your punches hitting Leonardo were heard.

“Okay, now try sweeping me off my-“

BANG!

Suddenly, the loud noise of glass shattering on the floor is heard, ringing through the dojo.

“Tha hell was- Y/N!” Raphael is the first to run to your side as you’re curled up in a ball on the floor, but he doesn’t know what he should do. Leonardo puts his practice katana down and also runs to your side, and Master Splinter gets up from his position off the floor to tend to you.

”Y/n? What is the matter?” Master Splinter's voice echoes through your head, but you can’t answer. Your hands cover your ears, and the only look in your widened eyes is fear.

“Sorry, guys, Mikey here doesn’t…hey, is something wrong?” Donatello and a sheepish-looking Michelangelo trudging behind him enter the dojo as well, and now all eyes are focused on you and your well-being.

“I don’t know, Don.” Raphael is gentle with you, as he goes to his knees and draws comforting circles on your back. You both sit like this for a few moments, until you snap out of whatever trance you were in.

“I…I’m…fine.” You hide your red, tear-stained face from Raph, who helps you back on your feet.

“Bullshit,” He doesn’t rudely mean this, and you know that; but he can tell when you’re really not doing your best. You shouldn’t lie and hide how you’re truly feeling, it’ll only blow up in your face as time goes on.

“Raphael! Language.”

“Sorry, Mastah Splintah. Y/n…ya ain’t fine.” Your eyes adjust to your surroundings, and you become slightly overwhelmed that everyone is staring at you, all with concern.

Raphael has started to read you and how you feel. He’s still getting the hang of it, but right now, he’s 1000% sure that something’s going on with you.

“It’s probably from how loud it was, it just scared me, is all.” You huff, trying to divert the attention away from you.

Everyone else deems it as you simply getting startled, but Donatello and Raphael think it’s something serious. Splinter really does not want to pry, as it may be a sensitive topic for you to be open about, but he trusts that Raphael will be able to get through to you and really find out what’s wrong.

“I dunno what ta do, Don.” Raphael sits across from his brother in his lab, as he does some extensive research to come up with some possibilities on what may be up with you. Medical databases, websites, and anything he could find.

“Has this happened before?” He asks, typing on his notepad on his computer. Raph takes a moment and thinks about other times it was as bad as today, but they all seem minor compared to this one.

“Just because they weren’t as serious, doesn’t mean we should ignore them. Was it the same? Reaction to a loud noise?” He asks his older brother. Raphael then hears your quiet laughter coming from the other side of the lab door, followed by Mikey’s voice. Raphael sighs, smiling at the fact that Mikey is trying to make you feel better in some way. He truly does appreciate his brothers.

“Anythin’ with glass. It ain’t just objects fallin’ eitha. She avoids goin’ out when it’s dark unless it’s with me, she’s been avoiding hangin’ with Jade in the nighttime, unless it’s earlia.”

“Hmm…you see, now, I don’t want to diagnose her, I can’t, actually. I’m not a doctor. But…”

“But, what?” Raph asks, anxious to hear Donnie’s answer.

“Given that she’s been almost assaulted by a gang, and had someone break into her apartment, it sounds like she’s showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, Raph.”

He’s taken aback by Donnie’s theory with your current mental state and scoffs.

“No way, she woulda told me that.”

“PTSD is something people aren’t aware they have until it gets bad, Raph. The best action you can take as her boyfriend is to offer support so she can have that realization.”

---

So, that’s what Raph did.

He gave you support. It took a few weeks for you to come to the realization Donnie was talking about, actually. You initially knew something was up, but couldn’t put your finger on it.

Up until one night, while you were in the comfort of your own home. It was worse than the first incident in the lair because the setting you were in reminded you of the break-in as well.

---

“Whaddya think, Y/n?” Jade twirls around in the 5th and final dress she had to try on for you. It shocked you, but Jade was preparing for a date with, get this,

Teddy.

It all happened so smoothly when Jade decided to walk you to a class pertaining to your major since hers was canceled. You, unfortunately, were still stuck going to class.

Luckily for you, Teddy was aiming for the same degree as you, so you saw him frequently in your classes throughout the new semester. You both decided to sit together once again like it’s tradition.

The football player was already in his usual seat, his bag on the chair next to him, holding your spot. As you and Jade made your way to your spot, Teddy was, quite literally, starstruck with Jade.

So much so, that he immediately asked for her number or whatever social media she had.

“He’s a good guy, Jade, promise.” You whispered into her ear as she was thinking if she should give Teddy the time of day.

“Hmm…tell ya what, Wilds.”

“Yes Goddess Jade- err, I mean Jade?” He plays his sentence off smoothly, whilst scratching the back of his neck nervously waiting for her answer.

“You’re cute, and you seem harmless, so why not?” Yes! You could SEE the fireworks go off in Teddy’s mind.

That man would not stop talking about her the whole time after she left, he was seriously excited that he was already planning on a first date.

The rest is history.

And now, here you are, watching Jade’s cheeks turn red just at the mention of Teddy’s name.

“I think-”

CRASH!

You stop mid-sentence, as a loud crash is heard coming from the hallway outside your apartment door.

“Whoa! What the hell was that?! Hey,- Y/n?” Jade stops talking when she notices you curled up in a ball on your bed. She immediately rushes to your side, confused about what’s wrong with you.

“You okay?” You did mention the fact that you were almost robbed a few weeks prior, but Jade didn’t seem to put the pieces together that your reaction was a result of that incident.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. I’m right here.” She tries soothing you, but it doesn’t go away. Soon, you’re pushing her away while telling her to stop touching you.

“Wha? Y/n, I’m your friend!”

“Get away! I don’t have any money!”

“Oh…” A lightbulb seems to go off in Jade’s head because she’s telling you to repeat positive affirmations while keeping her distance from you.

“You’re safe, you’re okay.” She repeats for what was the 50th time. She spent 20 minutes trying to calm you down, and it was working.

“I’m…safe…I’m…”

“You’re okay, Y/n.”

“I’m…I’m not okay.” You take a deep breath, physically and mentally drained from all the panic you were in.

“I think…something’s wrong. With me, I mean.” Jade gets up from the opposite side of your room and sits down next to you.

“I get like that whenever glass breaks or shatters loudly, I don’t understand.” You feel defeated, truly.

“How about this, we get some fresh air, while it’s still bright outside?” Jade’s offer is nice, and you decide to accept it.

‘Jade is truly a great friend,’ you think to yourself. She takes you to one of your favorite spots to get food and tries to get your mind off of things for the time being. She did the best she could, but it was something that loomed over your mind for the entirety of being outside.

So when she walks you back to your place, she asks you if you’ll be fine on your own for this evening.

“I’ll be okay, thanks, Jade. Really.”

“You’re my friend, Y/n, I’m a phone call or text away.” With that, she gives you a gentle hug before returning home.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Donnie?” You ask, hoping he has some time to spare.

“Hey, Y/n! You doing okay?” He asks sincerely, only for you to sigh on the other end.

“I…no. You’re right, about something being wrong.”

You can hear Donatello shift in his chair, “Oh no, Y/n. It happened again?”

Laying on your bed in a starfish position, you gaze at your ceiling, “It was worse. I…thought Jade was an intruder.”

“Give me a few minutes, Raph and I will be right over.”

When Donnie and Raph did make it to your apartment, they could feel something is off the moment they both step in.

“Hey babe, com’ere.” You walk over to Raph, smiling at him as he embraces you in a warm hug. Donatello greets you and flashes a small smile, as he says he’s going to give you both some time alone before you all talk about what could be wrong.

“Where’s my favorite Stelly-Welly?” Donatello cooed as he searched for your cat in the living room. He’s been obsessed with Stella since he fixed your window, she was just so sweet!

Raphael’s golden eyes stare into yours with concern.

“We’re gonna help ya, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Raph.” You wrap your arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his lips.

“Anytime, babe.”

When it came down to Donatello telling you what may be wrong, you were shocked, to say the least. You told him that you would’ve never thought those events would have an effect on you after the fact, months down the line even.

But, he explained that that’s how your mental state is affected. You may physically be okay, but deep down your brain is still expecting the worst of the worst.

So as Donnie showed you the many resources and steps you could take to get help beyond just friends and Raph, you took it.

“If it worsens or stays the same after speaking with a licensed therapist, they may even prescribe you medication,” He says. As nervous you may feel right now, you know that you can’t simply “get over it.” You have to find a way to heal, much deeper than how you initially thought you had been. You’re also not alone at all, it seems.

As Donatello focuses on helping you find a local clinic and a potential therapist, Raphael is focused on keeping your spirits up.

—-

That was the beginning of your journey to recovery. It wasn’t an easy one, opening up to a complete stranger about the events. But, with time, it worked.

You thank your therapist, Christina, once again for her help. She smiles her usual sweet smile, and tells you that whenever you may need to speak to her again about anything, she’s always here.

“I’m glad Raphael is still by your side in all this, he seems great for you.” She says as her final thought. She’s right, Raphael is truly a great match for you.

“He's done a lot for me, Christina. So much, it’s unthinkable.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Christina tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, “I’m also glad I was able to be of help to you, Y/n.”

With that, you give her one final goodbye, and you head out of that same familiar birch door that squeaked everytime it was touched, out into the world once again.

You made your way through the bustling city streets, the warm polluted air kissing your face. It’s springtime, and that meant you were wrapping up your spring semester as a sophomore, ready to be a junior. It wasn’t easy, especially dealing with the new mental health crisis you discovered. Not only this, but classes seemed to be longer, the work harder, and the deadlines coming quicker.

But, you were getting through it, and not a lot of college students can say that. By this point, the average person may have dropped out by now, but not you. You’re strong- and you were determined to graduate college.

Since your therapy sessions were finished, you felt hopeful for the days to come. You haven’t had any episodes since the last time with Jade that were THAT bad, but you’re still getting comfortable going out at night.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow, as you were going to visit your boyfriend. Until then, you’ve been talking on the phone after therapy sessions for reassurance and just to enjoy the sound of each other’s voice.

“I’m glad it worked for ya, princess. I see it. Donnie sees it, too.” Raph says on the other end.

Unlocking your apartment door, you’re greeted by the warm air due to very nice heating, “Thank you guys. Hey, I’m gonna come over tomorrow, I’m gonna go through withdrawal if I don’t see you.” You whine jokingly, well, half-jokingly. Raphael chuckles on the other end, his low voice always sending you down a spiral of restlessness.

“Trust me, I miss ya more, I’ll try and swing by tonight afta patrol, sound good?” The red-banded turtle asks.

“More than good, Raph.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Raphael~!” You sing as you enter the lair.

The living space is empty, except for Leonardo at the kitchen table sipping some tea.

“I’m not Raph, but hello, Y/n. Look, Mikey made me toast.” Leonardo says happily he takes a bite of a slightly darkened piece of whole wheat toast. Leonardo has confessed to you that he couldn’t cook, so he often relies on Mikey for that.

“It’s so easy bro. You just pull the lever down and…actually, Nevermind. Dudette! Hey!” Mikey says as he comes down the stairs with a comic in his hands. You greet and give him your usual giddy hug, and he takes a seat on the couch.

“I’ll get Raph for you. Observe. Ahem, RAPHIE!” Mikey exclaims from his spot, only for Leo to shush him and Donnie to wheel out of his lab on his chair, giving Mikey a dirty look from the darkened corridor and slowly wheeling back in.

Suddenly, you see Raphael and Splinter emerge from the dojo, and you watch as Raph’s amber eyes glared at his younger brother, also giving him a dirty look.

“That nickname is exclusive ta Don, Mikey! It’s our thing!” Raph reminds. Mikey can’t help but laugh, and Leo can’t help but sigh at the situation.

“Hey, Raph.” “Hi, Master Splinter.” You bow at their rat Sensei, as you read somewhere that it was a sign of respect. Plus, the turtles always did it during training or talking with Splinter, so you sort of picked up on it.

Dating Raphael had to be the best decision you’ve made so far. His life…was widely interesting. He had three amazing brothers, all of which work together and are a strong team. He also has an extremely wise father and sensei, who only wants what’s best for his sons.

As for the relationships you’ve built with Raph’s brothers, you find Donnie to be your closest friend out of the three. Donatello and Raphael are beautiful counterparts of each other. Donnie’s sarcasm is very complex and advanced, while Raph’s is just plain crude. But, they both bond over this sarcasm and even bounce off of each other at times. Raphael’s favorite brother was always Donatello.

Let’s not undermine the fact that Donatello understands Raphael completely. He’s your go-to. If you aren’t sure what kind of date you should set up with him, ask Donnie! He’ll gladly help you plan a date with his brother. A happy Raph is a good Raph in that household. Donatello is a great turtle to go to when you need advice. You know, a relationship is rocky, there are ups and downs, and there are exciting times and boring times. But, that’s the beauty of a relationship, that you can get through it all with the same person- er, turtle.

---

“It sounds to me that he just needs some time to take in what you said, Y/n.” Donnie says, face coming up from being buried in his computer monitor. Raphael and Leonardo had gotten into a petty argument again. If you remembered correctly, it was something about beating down the PDs or letting them go. Leonardo chose to let them go, and it resulted in a fight between the two brothers.

Raphael did what he usually does when he gets into it with Leo, he calls you. But, this wasn’t one of those petty arguments he and Leo agreed to disagree on, no, Raph was genuinely mad.

“I see where Leo comes from, if they’re not doing anything, there’s no point in poking the bear if that makes sense. Bu-”

“You an me both know tha PDs are pieces of shit.” He interrupts you, which was common if he was upset about something he was passionate about. You can’t be mad at Raph for caring about a topic.

“I know, but let me finish. I see where you come from too, Raph. You still carry the world, it won’t change. But, I think the point of Leo having you all walk away was to show that at some point in your lives, you won’t be able to stop the PDs. If they aren’t bothering anyone, there’s no point.”

Raphael doesn’t say anything, but he sighs on the other line.

“You know,” You start, “As much as I would love to beat the shit out of the PD’s, they’ll just get back on their feet and move on.”

Raph stares at the ceiling, you’re right. Maybe he shouldn’t have been mad at Leo and gotten into an argument about it. It’s not like they constantly argue, it’s just little things they may disagree on. But, this one was the first MAJOR argument they’ve had since Winter’s Corp and the Stone Generals situation.

Raph’s trying. He’s trying not to erupt on you about the situation and your opinion. He can’t get mad at you, he knows this. You’re simply there to listen and give your feelings; you are not obligated to agree with him simply because he’s your boyfriend. He understands that sometimes, you both may disagree on something, but that doesn’t mean it should result in a fight. He’s better than that. He wouldn’t have fallen for you if he thought you would’ve brought drama into his life.

So, to prevent him from saying anything you may take the wrong way, he tells you he’s gotta go, and that he loves you before hanging up.

Thus, this is where you seeing Donnie comes into play.

“I see he’s trying. He’s trying to be a good guy for you. If he hurt you once, he absolutely does not want to do it again.” The brown-eyed turtle stops typing on his keyboard, and his attention is all on you. Donatello wants his words to get through, and to be a good wingman for Raph when Casey can’t. Truth be told, Donnie feels a little bad for thinking Raphael did nothing during Leo’s absence, so he’s trying to make up for it. In contrast, Raphael feels bad for giving Donnie a hard time as well, so he’s trying to make up for that. They talk more, spend more time together, bond over more common interests, and are a pretty good duo.

So, it’s only right that he helps you with Raph.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea, Donatello is not having feelings for you. He absolutely does not want Raph to think this at all, so he changed little things. He keeps the door open in his lab when you’re in there and he limits the hugs to just greetings and goodbyes (lord someone teach Mikey this before Raph blows a fuse,) he would hate it if Raph got the wrong idea.

“He’s most likely thinking about apologizing to Leo as we speak.” You and Donnie stop talking, and it’s silent throughout the lab, except for the rhythmic beeping from his monitor, and the footsteps of Leonardo approaching the lab door and passing through, his seemingly stressed form trudging its way to the dojo. You wondered how that would go since Raph was also in there. You’d usually spend your time watching him work out or (attempting) to work out with him. But, you knew a lot was looming on his mind, and he locked himself in, so. You really couldn’t get in there.

That is until Leo tries to open the sliding doors, only for them to be jammed.

“You’re kidding. Raph!” Like watching a sibling trying to get in the bathroom while the other is wasting all the hot water, you faintly hear loud knocking on the dojo doors.

A few moments of loud knocking later, you hear the dojo doors slide open with great force.

“Yeah?” You hear Raph’s voice, it’s hard to hear, but you can make out what the two brothers are saying.

“It’s my meditation time.”

“Ya got a room fa that upstairs.” Raph retorts, smirking and pointing up at Leo’s bedroom.

The leader in blue deadpans at his brother, “But I want the dojo,”

“No.” Leonardo sighs. Raphael could push his buttons without even trying, huh? To avoid the possibility of a petty argument over the dojo, Leonardo turns to leave, until Raph chuckles.

“I’m messin’ Fearless. It’s all yours. I ain’t good at sayin’ sorry ta ya…ya know that. So…I’m at fault. Fa not hearin ya out the other night. Whether we here or not, the PDs will continue to terrorize this city.” Overhearing that coming from Raph makes your heart flutter.

Now, Raph listens. He’s a listener when he wants to be. He took what you said to heart, and came to the conclusion that you were right.

“Terrorize is an understatement little brother, but when they do, we’ll be there to stop them. Promise.” With that, Raphael looks at his older brother and smirks as they fist-bump each other. Raphael does not and will not hold a grudge against his brother after the one due to his absence. He let this anger about his brother leaving to train and then staying longer than he intended to seep in and fester. Grow into a despise of his own brother, and that’s what led to the fight on the rooftop.

—-

He doesn’t want that to happen again. After all, family is everything to Raph. It’s why he’s so protective over his younger brothers because they’re everything to him. They mean everything to him. As for Leo, though Raph may not admit it, he looks up to him in a way. He sees him as this level-headed entity who tries his best, and he sees that. Raph sees it now, as he had this realization after that fight. Leo’s trying, for himself, and for the family. And if Leo could put his heart and soul into trying to become a better version of himself for the sake of the team, Raphael can appreciate his efforts and try to see where he’s coming from. He may not understand it at first, but right now, he does.

To jump back to the previous point, you mean a lot to him as well. That’s why he stops himself from letting that inner anger take control and chooses to leave or change the direction of the conversation.

Raphael was happy. Happy that you were with him, but even happier that you liked his brothers. Like it was mentioned earlier, dear readers: Family means everything to him. If you didn’t get along with his family, he’d have to let you go. It sounds crazy, but family comes first- even if it means having to leave you. It’s something he never had to think about with you or Sabrina because you both were just drawn to his brothers. It may also be because Raphael seems to attract level-headed women, while someone like Mikey may get women who might take advantage of his kindness. Not to say Mikey doesn’t know his worth, but Raph isn’t so gullible. He knows how shit works. He knows how to play the game if there is one.

So, he loved that you got along with all of his brothers so well, especially Donnie. Raphael knew that Donatello needed someone to listen to him and to be interested in what he was saying, so he appreciated that you became that person for his little brother.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Donnie,” You say as you walk toward the lab, you can hear Raph’s footsteps follow behind.

Once you get to the lab, Donnie’s lips curl into a smile at the sight of you- his closest human friend. He gives you a nice greeting that you reciprocate, as you both talk for a few minutes. Once it goes silent between the two of you for a moment, Raphael clears his throat.

“Hope ya don’t mind Don but I’m takin’ my girl away from ya,” Raph says, thinking about what he’s gonna do with you when he gets upstairs.

“Nope, she’s all yours! We can talk more later, Y/n.” Donnie says as he goes to his table of inventions and things that require repairs. He eyes the microwave and scowls. Yes, Leo broke it if you were wondering. As if Leo couldn’t break anything but the toaster, he goes and breaks the fucking microwave. Donatello isn’t even sure how he broke it in the first place. Like, how do you manage to break a microwave, Leo?

Anyway, you give him a smile and wave as Raphael leads you out of his younger brother's lab and up the stairs, all the way to his room. You sit comfortably on the edge of Raph’s bed, the dim light seeping from outside his room. Raph looks at you before winking and closing the door, light coming from the living space is now gone, and you’re left in complete darkness. You could feel him staring at you, and you think he has that sexy smirk he puts on when he wants to make out with you, and you hear him quickly making his way to the bed to stand in front of you, lifting your chin up and his lips landing on yours.

“I thought about…sumthin…well, I think…about it…all tha time,” he says in between kisses. As you moan slightly into the kiss, he places his hands around your waist and moves his lips from yours to your neck. He leaves butterfly kisses all over, not wanting to leave a mark (though he also thinks about this sometimes.) You close your eyes, basking in the pleasure of having your boyfriend kissing and loving on your skin, as you respond to his earlier statement in between breaths.

“Thinking…about what…Raph?” You can feel him getting confident in working with your body, as he lives little nips on your cricoid clavicle. It feels amazing, and you can’t help but moan slightly louder than before. You feel Raph’s lips vibrate into your neck as he shushes you sensually, before working back up to your lips.

“You. When I told ya I loved ya. The first time. I think about that a lot.” Raph says, his cheeks heating up as a result of minor embarrassment. But, as you rub up and down his biceps, he doesn’t feel so embarrassed after your response.

“Wait, you think about that? Truly?” You ask, smiling gently. You know Raph probably can’t see your face, so you let your tone show Raph that you love what he just confessed to doing.

“Yeah…I do. I don’ know why, but it stays in my head all tha time.”

“It’s a core memory, that’s why Raph.” You say, kneeling on his bed so that you’re slightly taller than him and feeling around in front of you for his forehead, kissing it gently when you do. Raph was a sucker for forehead kisses. His strong hands find their way to your waist and latch onto you like he loved to do, and you go back to your original position on the bed. This is short-lived, as Raph gently picks you up and puts you in the middle of his bed, going on top of you and smashing his lips into yours.

“I know I can’t see ya right now, but you’re gorgeous, princess.” Raphael’s deep voice compliments, sending shivers down your whole body. His fingers find their way into your hair, and your fingers twirl with the ends of his mask. Raphael always liked your hair.

A core memory, huh?

Well, his first “I love you” ever wasn’t something he would forget. Not now, not ever.

Raphael was in love with you. He knew that’s what it was because he looked it up. Not only that, but he asked Splinter about it to confirm it was love and not early signs of a heart attack according to Google. Now, you’ve told each other you loved each other already, but we’re focused on the very first time. Because Raphael continues to play it every time in his head before he goes to sleep now.

—-

“Kneel, my son.” Master Splinter says to his second oldest son. He’s sitting in the dojo after just meditating, surrounded by a soft ambiance and candlelight. Raphael’s nervous body language didn’t go unnoticed by his Sensei and Father.

“First off, how are you, my son?” Master Splinter uses a different tactic when it comes to speaking to Raphael. He knows that Raphael needs someone to listen to him fully, without judging. So Master Splinter asks how he’s doing to establish a comforting space for him to talk, to where Splinter is talking to him as his amazing son, not his student or a troubled young adult.

“Good…I’m good. It’s just…Y/n.” Raphael seems to talk steadily, almost unsure of what he’s feeling.

“Is there trouble in paradise, my son? You are always welcome to discuss your and Y/n’s conflicts with me, I will not look at you both any differently.” The short rat states, stroking his fuzzy beard. But, Raphael shakes his head in response.

“No, ain’t no trouble. Bein’ wit ha…it’s nuthin but paradise. It’s just…I think I love her.” Splinter’s ears perk up, excited to hear that one of his sons is starting to experience an emotion that was thought to be exclusive to only two humans.

“Well, what is the problem with that Raphael?” He asks. Raphael thinks for a moment, then sighs.

“I- I don’t know how to tell ha that. Or if it’s love. It can’t be, right? Is that too much? What if she don’t feel tha same? What if it’s too early fa that? What if I mess up tellin-.” Raphael spits his thoughts out sporadically, unsure of the answers to all of his “what-ifs.”

But, when Splinter gets up from in front of Raphael and puts a supportive paw on his shoulder, he stops rambling and breathes in deeply.

“Listen, my son. Miss Y/n is someone who has shown time and time again she cares for you. She cares for your feelings, if she did not care, she would not have taken you back after your leave of absence from her life.”

Splinter walls around the dojo and goes into a drawer, opening up a small box of lavender incense sticks, and picks one out. Placing it on a nearby unscented candle, it catches the flame and is engulfed onto the end of the stick. After a few seconds, he gently waved it around for the flame to die, watching as the smoke emerged from the end and bringing the scents of the purple flower as well as mint to life in the dojo.

Raphael looks at his Sensei, then at his fingers resting on his thighs, as he balls his hands into a fist, taking in what his father is telling him. He’s right, he always is. He’s right about Y/n, Splinter can see through people for God’s sake.

“It is love, Raphael. If you are thinking this much about it, there is no doubt in my mind it is love. It is only right that it is, you have developed feelings that get stronger the longer you are with her.” Raphael smiles, thank God it’s not early warning signs of a heart attack. Not only that, but now he knows his mind and heart are in sync with each other, and he loves Y/n. He loves her.

“If you overthink like this before you tell her, you will never get the chance to. It’ll come to you, at the moment. Do not think about it, it will come naturally. And who knows, you might be surprised by what she says.”

As days went on, Raphael was fighting with himself to tell you and to also find the right time to. He was beginning to think there wouldn’t be a right time. But…it was supposed to come naturally. He seemed to forget that part Splinter told him because Raph is a natural overthinker in some situations.

How would you react to his confession?

Well, unbeknownst to Raphael, he was about to find out.

And better yet, it came just like Splinter said it would: naturally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raphael’s nerves were going slightly wild, as he cuddled you on your couch. This was your 4th official date, and both decided to stay indoors enjoying each other’s company. He didn’t reveal what he had made for you, not yet. He was waiting. Waiting for what you may ask? He wasn’t sure.

“Raph, did you wanna spend the night? I would love to continue this on the bed,” You say as you turn and face your boyfriend, pecking him on the lips before you stretch. Raphael follows suit until he remembers he still had something to do before he heads to bed.

There wasn’t going to be a “perfect” time to give you this, so he decided to just go for it.

“Hey I…have sumthin’ for ya, Y/n.” He says. You walk to shut off the TV, maneuvering around Stella so you wouldn’t wake her. Raphael takes this time to get out his “something” for you, and he hopes it’s as good an idea as Donnie said it was.

“Really? You know you don’t have to get me anything, being with you is enou-“ You stop mid-sentence and look at what Raph’s holding.

It’s…so cute.

It mimics the features of a Chinese braided bracelet- one that signifies good luck and fortune. This one, however, has a white “R” etched into the thickest part of the bracelet, which after you put it on, sits on your wrist. It’s simple, yet you couldn’t help but smile your biggest smile at your boyfriend. Raphael looks at you and smiles sheepishly back at you.

“I thought I should make ya sumthin…that reminds you of me when you’re away, is it too much? Don said it wasn’t but then again he’s single and hasn’t-“You stop Raphael from rambling with a hard kiss on his lips. He kisses back with an equal amount of force and passion as well.

“Raph, you took the time to make something for me. I don’t care what your doubts are about It. I love it so-”

“I love you too.” It may have been that Raphael was over the moon with your reaction and that you didn’t finish your sentence and he jumped the gun, but he told you that he loved you.

Too.

It takes you aback, because Raphael had said it as if it’s been on his mind for a while, and it sounds like he’s lifting a big weight off his shoulders. He doesn’t register that you didn’t say you loved him until after. That’s when he panics a little. Now, Raphael wears his emotions on his sleeve, and you immediately see the panic in his eyes. He didn’t mean to tell you he loved you like that. He wanted it to be mutual, and for it to go smoothly.

“Wait, wait, it’s okay! I…I love you too, Raphael.” You say, squeezing his bicep before he gets any more nervous or overthinks the situation. You loved Raph, you really, really did.

So, you look up at him and give him a loving kiss on his cheek. “I love you. I mean that.”

Raphael’s golden eyes seem to light up with a new admiration for you. After all this time, from the first meet to the time you spent together, to the time he completely left you out to dry, to now…you loved him. There was nothing that doubted him at that moment. You said it once more to put him at ease, that you didn’t just say it the first time back because he said it. No, you truly loved him. It’s rare for him, or any of his brothers, to find love. He was hoping there would be women like you somewhere in New York that accepted his brothers as you did him.

Now, it was very rare for Raph to widely smile- much like Mikey. He would usually smirk, or give a normal smile. But right now, he had the biggest smile on his face.

You were the cause of this. Of this sudden euphoria.

******OKAY Y'ALL if you don’t like mentions of rated r activity feel free to skip this part*******

So, it’s no surprise that Raph picked you up and walked to your bedroom, lightly placing you on the bed. He goes to dive in for a kiss, but you decide that it’s time for you to take some control. So, you sit up, and motion for Raph to take your spot on the bed.

He watches you in awe as you straddle his waist, enjoying the show you're giving him on top. You decide to take off the top that you’re wearing, only leaving you in your bra and shorts. Raphael notices every mark you may or may not have, and he loves it. He sees how you chose to wear a red laced bra tonight, almost teasing and enticing him to take it off of you. Give him some time to get comfortable and navigate your body, and it’ll surely happen in a few moments. With the new exposed skin, Raph smirks as his hands find their way to rub up and down your sides, loving how smooth your skin was, and how warm it felt.

“Ya know…yer so…fuckin…sexy,” Raph whispers in between kisses. He loves the sight of you. It’s like a drug he’s rapidly becoming addicted to. As you gave him access to your neck and collarbones, he was ready to paint you and make you a work of art with his signature all over it. Because good God, he was so ready to suck your supple skin. To taste how sweet your skin was, and when it was getting heated, the slightly salty taste it had from light sweat.

You were his, undeniably his, and you were loving every second of this moment. That you allowed him to leave those marks on your neck, as he searched for a spot that would have you-

“Raph, ah~” Bingo. He was understanding how your body worked, what places to kiss or nibble that made you crumble on top of him, and others that made you giggle from it being ticklish.

He just made you moan, and it seemed to have boosted his ego because he was going in with more confidence, and more drive to get you to do it again. Your voice sounded so perfect, he wanted you to sing like that for him again; louder.

“I love tha way ya sound, do it again fa me, princess,” He says, sitting upright and latching his lips onto your chest. He doesn’t want to take you apart just yet, and he begins to leave small love bites right on top of your breasts until he gets to one spot where you make that sound once again, that wonderful moan that signifies he’s doing the right thing. That he’s allowing you to become vulnerable and exposed on top of him.

“Is this okay?” You asked, fiddling with your bra strap. Raphael gives you the same sexy smirk he gave you the first time he kissed you, and it seals the deal.

“More than okay. I want ya, princess.” He says as his fingers dance over your bra straps, which slowly make their way to the hook-and-eye closure on your bra, getting slightly irritated when he can’t unclip it with his larger hands. You giggle softly, and help him out, giving him a smile when you feel the support on your breasts falter, and the only way the bra is being held up is because of Raph’s hands.

Once it’s fully off, Raphael can’t help but feel. They’re soft. They’re so soft. How they jiggled when his hands fiddled with them, and how the small buds became harder and more sensitive due to the fresh cool air and the sexual activity being initiated. He looks up at you with amber eyes full of lust as he begins to dive in and suck in places that send you into a downward spiral of newly sprouted orgasm craving, and a longing for your boyfriend in such a sickeningly sexy sinful manner.

It’s amazing that Raphael can make you feel this way. It’s something that’s unmatched.

So, when you both get comfortable enough to where all the clothing is off you, and he’s looming on top, ready to pop his own virginity cherry, you can’t help but kiss him with pure love right before he slides it in. As he’s in his most vulnerable state on top of you, blushing madly from all the friction and this erection that can’t seem to go away, longing for your soft walls to welcome it home where it belongs, you kiss him again. To let him know that you want this as much as he did.

And holy mother of mutagen, he wanted this bad with you. Because honestly, he couldn’t be more in love with you.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: HERE

NEXT CHAPTER: HERE

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #raphael x reader #tmnt raphael #donatello #leonardo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #raph x reader #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfics #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 #bayverse tmnt

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bloodandrunes · 2 years

Note

How would the ROs during deep crushing stage if someone(like astuffy noble?) were to tell them that they deserve better than a common killer like the MC?👀🤍

The reactions would all be 'unimpressed' but further detail is beneath the cut.

Aariz throws his head back and laughs at their audacity. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down his nose at him, mouth twisting into some mockery of a smile. But though his lips are curved upwards, his eyes are cold. Anger threads through his veins. How dare this person -- this soft, addle-brained noble -- insult you? "You have ten seconds to get the hell out of my sight," he says metal hand flexing. "Start running." And then he begins to count.

Dalia can hardly believe her ears. She stares at the noble in front of her, whose features are so smug and whose words are laced with such contempt, and suddenly she can't stand it. "My companion," she says, the sudden urge to defend you burning through her, "is a far more honorable individual than you." And it was the wrong thing to say -- the stupid thing -- but the words fly from her lips before she can stop them, and she does not regret it.

In the AD Poly, Aariz feels Dalia go stiff beside him. He feels his cheeks heat as he tries to avoid her gaze, embarrassment briefly outweighing anger now that the silent tension between the three of you has finally been addressed. Then the weight of the noble's words dawns on both of them. Two pairs of eyes narrow at once. Aariz carries through with the same threat he did alone, a warning to start running, and Dalia still defends your honor. But there is a shift in their stances, a more combative edge that they would always take when fighting together, as they fit seamlessly in defense of you. And the noble nurses more than just wounded pride that night; they nurse their own terror.

Adys snorts at the noble's words and shakes his head. "If you are complaining to me about someone's reputation," he says, "then I think you have come to the wrong man." He looks at him over the rim of his goblet, stretched out as comfortably as he can on a sofa. He sets the wineglass down and smiles broadly. "I have no room in my circles for those who would judge others, especially not such good... friends. I suggest you leave."

Ralys' eyes narrow at the slight against you as soon as it is uttered. She sets down her teacup and stares at the noble across from her. "Tell me, then," she says softly, voice honey-sweet, "who would be worthy of my affections." It is not a question. The noble opens their mouth to speak and she raises a hand up firmly with hard eyes. Their mouth closes with a click. "I will tell you who it is not. It is not you, or your brother, or your cousin, or whomever else you may believe would advance you. I am a royal princess, my father's heir until he has a son. And so I will tell you, never insult my company ever again, or I will make you rue it."

Idar huffs out a laugh at the noble's clear attempt to slander you. "Your attempts at defending my virtue would mean much more to me if your kind did not name me a rat and a vulture at every turn," he says with a smile. "I fear that, in your efforts to dissuade me from spending time with MC, you have only spurred me on; anyone who a noble hates is a friend of mine." Though he laughs, there is an undercurrent of anger in his words, churning in his belly. The noble must sense that because their smile dies on their face.

Zara's face darkens into a scowl immediately. Who does this fool think they are, to insult you so? Don't they know she protects her own? Well, it is no matter. "I am not in the habit of entertaining simpletons," she says, resting a hand against her palm. "I would ask that this meeting of ours comes to an end and that you leave." The noble sputters and she smiles sweetly. "I could always have my husband's guards drag you out by force. That would make quite a sight, don't you think?"

??? glances at her brother out of the corner of her eye. He stares at her with concern and frustration both, and she feels anger stir in her own chest in response. "I thank you for your advice, little brother," she says, "but I can manage my own affairs. I do not need your opinion on the matter. "

He scowls and reaches for her, hand catching on her arm. "I am being serious, [REDACTED]. Do not due this. It would be the height of stupidity."

That stings, she will not lie. She smiles at him politely, with all her courtly graces, and he flinches. "You insult my intelligence and virtue both, by insinuating there is anything between the two of us," she says, "by insinuating I am being unfaithful to my honorable husband. I would ask that you do not do so again. I am, after all, a most faithful and loving wife. And MC is an honorable person; to insult them is to insult me."

He scowls and his jaw clenches, but he says nothing. Well, then. That is the end of that.

#blood and runes #scenario ask #ROs #anon #the ROs protective are so fun to write

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cassiopeiagarcia · 9 months

Text

She had opened her eyes after the meteorite impact a couple of days before meeting Alex… for the first time?

Seeing her brother and sister by the bed, Cass hadn’t thought anything at all. Just normal day, like any other, in which they had all stayed at Andro’s place (Hércules had roommates and Cass lived in a small studio apartment) and the middle García sibling had been the last to wake up.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

But, if that was the case, why were they crying?

They had explained. The day they had all met for coffee, a meteorite had struck Shibuya. Hundreds had died. But not them. However, while Andro and Hérc had been more or less okay, except for a few ugly bruises, three days in a comatose state and their heart stopping for a minute, Cass had all that plus a very disgusting-looking wound in her abdomen (something – she didn’t want to ask what but sharp and pointy – had ripped her skin undoubtedly leaving a nasty scar) a broken, purple, bloated lip (hey, at least I now don’t need plastic surgery! had been her way of making her parents feel better about it) and what most likely would end up being an addiction to morphine; the first days, they had her high most of the time. She didn’t quite know what they were giving her or why, but apparently she had required a few minor surgeries and…

It was during one of those days, that she had sneaked out of her hospital room. Cass had heard something outside: a conversation between her mother, María, and the doctor. They needed to perform a few blood tests, to check the levels of blahblahblah because it could be an indication of God knew what. And no. She refused. They had finally stopped giving her the medication intravenously, which meant: time for her escape plan.

Grabbing her mother’s fancy coat and hat, she had ran away of her room. She hadn’t thought much about it; she only knew that, for whatever reason, she wanted a pizza, sick to the core of hospital food, and to try and find a Halloween store, to check out some masks. The masks were really important, and apparently she had been telling absolutely everyone everything about them. In particular, she wanted a mask with six eyes, with a red sigil, with beautiful and intricate decorations of the same color. A mask that meant something, that symbolized some deity, but none of any religions she could think of.

Barefoot, she wandered around the hospital, tipping her hat to whoever she came across, like someone from the medieval ages. Sir, Ma’am. Cass was about to make a turn in some corridor when she came face to face with her doctor, a man in his 50s that went by the name of… actually, she didn’t remember. So she did what anybody else would.

She entered the patient’s room closer to her, pretending to be some visiting family member.

‘Hello, dear! How are you? Are you feeling better?’ She cheerfully and loudly asked the person laying down in the hospital bed, closing the door behind her quickly. ‘Ufff, that was close. So sorry to bother you but they want to take my blood and I think it belongs in my body!’

The person in question was a man, one who had the top half of his face, except for his eyes, covered in bandages. She could see nothing but his mouth, jaw and neck, but Cass found herself staring. There was something about him… ‘You are so handsome. Well, so handsome. Like don’t get me wrong, you probably are, I just can’t see you! But you feel so handsome. I just… woah. My name’s Cass. I was attacked by a meteorite. Not like personally. I just…’

‘Alex.’ He said, apparently not bothered at all by the fact that she wasn’t making any sense at all. He even was smiling in her direction and his voice sounded… relieved, maybe? Anyway, heavy with emotion. Alex, Alex, Alex.

Cass was about to say something else when the door opened again. She was expecting a nurse, maybe. She could deal with that, use her charms to drive them away. But nothing could have prepared her for coming face to face with Andro, whose arms were crossed above her chest and whose eyes were mostly white. She was rolling them towards the ceiling, as she took a deep breath.

‘Cass! You were supposed to get your medical tests done and…’

‘No, Androoooooooo. Andro, please, I don’t want to. I’m so tired, look at all the bruises in my arm from them poking me with needles. Like plim, plim, plim. No, pleeeeeeaaaaaase.’

‘Cass.’

Her sister’s tone admitted no reply. Cass sighed, finding herself absolutely defeated.

‘But I made a new friend?’ The tone was slightly interrogative, because they had after all exchanged literally a thousand words on Cass’ part and one on his, but one look at Alex and the blonde woman knew. They were friends. Or would be friends.

‘I’m so sorry she bothered you.’ Andro began. Her older sister was not speaking to Cass anymore, but to Alex, who had propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head.

‘She didn’t bother. At all.’

Again, that warmth. That feeling of acceptance, of belonging. Maybe she was still high, no, certainly, she was. But Cass had never felt this before, and she would fight for it. By pouting and pleading. ‘Please, I don’t want to go!?’

‘Cassiopeia, por favor…’

Uh oh. Andro using her full name meant trouble. With a defeated sigh, after a battle she would later remember as fierce and fiery, she waved Alex goodbye and blew him a kiss, before her sister took her back to her room, where an evil person would steal her precious blood.

───⋆☆─────────────

‘I know it’s unorthodox, a man and a woman sharing the same room, but she absolutely refuses to agree to any medical procedure unless she can be with you...’

The doctor was explaining as Cass walked in, carrying a couple of stuffed animals in her arms, running excitedly towards Alex with the brightest smile, one that made her whole face shine.

‘Hi! I convinced them to let us share a room if you wanted to. I guess you agreed because if not I wouldn’t be here. Cool, huh!?’ She exclaimed, standing beside his bed, smiling even more although it didn’t seem possible when she saw that he was happy about it, too.

She didn’t take as much pills now, her mind a lot less foggy, and would have apologize for her erratic behavior from last time, but when she tried to do it, he immediately cut her. There was nothing to apologize about.

That night, none of them got much sleep.

She sat at the foot of his bed, with her chin placed on top of her knees, her legs against her chest, her arms around them. Cass laughed more than she had in her entire lifetime as they shared anecdotes from their lives. Funny and happy ones, before switching to sadder ones, because they wanted to tell the other person absolutely everything. No secrets, not now, not ever. One in particular was harder than others, because it had marked a before and an after in Alex’s life: his parents falling into a coma after a car accident.

Cass had simply extended an arm, grabbed his hand. Held it hard as he told the story. And then, brought it to her lips, softly kissing his fingertips, sweetly.

His expression told her that she had done something right, something that had evoked deep feelings in him.

She had refused to go back to her cot. She hadn’t wanted to, and Alex didn’t seem like he wanted to let go of her, either. So she had simply laid beside him, until Sleep had taken both of them with Her to her realm, softly caressing his jaw, his neck.

Even if the doctor had scolded her the following morning, it had absolutely been worth it.

And she had kept doing it, night after night after night.

They could talk for hours, or stay in comfortable silence. Cass would paint him. Alex would sing to her. They would watch shitty movies on the TV in their room and she would let the doctors perform each and every test they wanted on her, as long as he was holding her hand.

When they had taken the bandages off of his face, she had been there, next to him, knowing that whatever he looked like wouldn’t change how she felt about him. Because Cass was in love, completely and absolutely, with every single part of Alex.

‘So, I was right the first night, you are devilishly handsome.’ She had declared, after he had stood still for a minute or two to let her examine his features, before finally closing the distance between them and kissing him.

───⋆☆─────────────

Cass was discharged before Alex. Weeks before.

But there was not a day she didn’t come visit after work, bringing food from the outside; bags full of takeaway, little snacks, things that he had mentioned he liked or things that she had commented about and wanted to share with him.

Between colorful wrappings of cookies and chocolate bars, more stolen kisses. Shy, at the beginning. Passionate, as time passed.

New lovers were supposed to be clumsy, but their bodies knew each other perfectly – from a previous life, maybe, their lips moving in perfect sync.

The doctors and nurses still got mad at her and her mischief; but they also just left them alone more times than not by that point, maybe slightly moved because out of the horrible natural disaster that had been the meteorite crashing in Japan, something as beautiful as their love story had been born.

It didn’t surprise anyone, when they made it official. When they started looking for a place for both of them, after merely months of dating. They were moving fast, yes, but why wait when they were made for each other?

This was Eden. Paradise. Mutual respect, acceptance and love. A sacred connection, and they were just pawns following one mandate: to be together.

In this universe. And all of them.

@j-ofspades

#j-ofspades #vesselito my love #i wanted to make a moodboard of them going on dates and having a normal life and #yes #don't know if i fucked it up but #PRESSY

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quietlydiabolic · 2 years

Text

“Bad At Dying” - Mega Man short oneshot fanfic

By: Jixie Fandom: Mega Man Classic BassRockWeek : September 8 - Comfort Rating: G Word Count: 1988

Roll had been crying on and off for the past two days. The moment she seemed to feel a little better, to begin pulling herself together, she'd immediately unravel and start sobbing again. Rock spent most of his time holding her, rubbing her back, offering soothing words.

Dr. Light's grief was quieter. He was somber, occasionally tearing up, at times grabbing either Roll or Rock into a tight bear hug, choking sob caught in his throat. He, too, did his best to comfort Roll.

And Rock?

Rock felt numb. He couldn't. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel. When he wasn't there for Roll, he walked around in a daze, his whole world suddenly fake and artificial and flat. Somewhere in the depths of that numbness Rock would catch a glimpse at an incredible ache, a massive hole in his heart where his brother had been, but he couldn't reach it, couldn't grasp it. He knew eventually the shock would wear off and the full horror of his grief— the enormity of it— would destroy him.

Until then, he tried his best to console Roll and Dr. Light.

Thankfully Auto was there to keep things running while everyone else tried, and failed, to deal with their pain. He answered calls and emails, made meals for Dr. Light, kept up lab maintenance, did some house cleaning, handled emergency repair jobs that truly couldn't wait. These things he did poorly, but he did them, which was what mattered.

…He also took care of the flowers and sympathy cards that came in, of which there was a surprising amount. Not just from Thomas' friends, peers, employees, former classmates. Not just from the people who were obligated, like the Mayor, or those whose lives had been touched by Mega Man or even Proto Man himself. No, there was an outpouring of love and support from those who cared about Blues Light. Blues' friends, people Rock and Roll never even knew existed.

So there was nothing unusual about the doorbell being rung over and over by some impatient delivery guy. Auto went to go answer it, and moments later, there was a loud crash as he was thrown to the floor.

Bass hopped over him and stormed into their house.

"Is it true!?"

He took one look at the Light family, Roll hunched over, Dr. Light's arm around her shoulder and his left hand patting her arm, Rock watching his all unfold with what could only be described as dull surprise. The flowers piled on the table, cards and photos scattered everywhere, a singed and tattered yellow scarf draped over one of the chairs.

(Rock couldn't bring himself to wear it.)

"Oh, crap! I can't believe it. That dumbass really went and got himself blown up."

Under any other circumstance, Rock would've marveled at the fact that his rival was here, in plain clothes, that he even could do that in the first place, not attacking any of them, apparently for the sole purpose of checking on Proto Man.

Only this wasn't any other circumstance.

Rock very suddenly, very overwhelmingly, felt something. Rage and disgust rose up like bile, filling his chest, his throat, his head, clouding his vision.

"How DARE YOU!?" He rushed forward and grabbed Bass' shirt collar with both hands, and yanked him so close that they almost banged heads. "Who do you think you are, coming in here, coming into OUR HOME, disrespecting MY BROTHER!? What made you think you could just waltz in here like this!"

Instead of getting angry and matching Rock's rage, Bass looked… oddly dejected. "I wasn't— I'm— y'know, he wasn't just your brother. Blues was—"

"Don't." With that Rock let go of one hand, using it to jab Bass in the chest. "Don't start with that. You never cared before. You didn't care about him when he nearly died attacking King. You mocked him when he was cut in half! You didn't care when that thing went bad with Wily's fake reality show, or when Nástenka tried to kill him, or— or— that whole mess with Uno and the Star Marshals! Don't pretend like you care now!"

Bass wrenched his shirt free from Rock's hand, but didn't let go of his wrist. "But he didn't die! He didn't die any of those times! Anyway—" He paused, then faltered. "Fine. You're right. You're right! I didn't care then. But— but that was— …no, actually, that thing with Uno was so messed up. I was… that time. Scared." His grip loosened. "The other times, yeah. I was a jerk— a great big jerk, and even then Blues was my friend but I didn't know it yet. Happy?"

"…No." The corners of his mouth started turning down. "N-no. I'm not happy. My brother is dead. I— I don't know. If. If I'll ever be happy again." Tears began to well up in his eyes.

"I know what you mean. He's the only one of you losers I liked— it's so unfair. He didn't deserve it. It should've been you instead." To his surprise, Bass also started to cry. "It should've been me instead. All those times I was mean to him…" He tried to fight it, rubbing his eyes, but then Rock had his arms around him and head against Bass' shoulder as he shook, silently and brokenly sobbing, and Bass broke down and wept too.

"It's not fair. I w-wish it could've been me."

"I can't take any of it back. Can't even apologize."

"Why couldn't he have just— just—" Rock paused, unable to continue.

"…wish I'd been a better friend back…"

"…couldn't've got his core fixed…?"

"…n-never realized how much I'd miss him…"

"…if not for himself, then for us! At least for Roll….!"

Auto took the opportunity to awkwardly squeeze past the grieving Robot Masters, disappearing into the breezeway that connected the house to the old laboratory, to fetch parts to repair the front door lock.

After watching this all unfold in silence, Roll, who hadn't been able to hold it together, blinked back her own tears and wiped the corners of her eyes. She approached and reached out. With one hand rubbed small comforting circles on Rock's back, and with her other hand did the same for Bass. Dr. Light hesitated for a moment, before following Auto off to the lab.

Once they'd got past the worst of it, Roll led the boys to the table, cleared some space, and took a seat next to Rock. Dr. Light returned shortly, with warmed E-Tanks and glass straws for all. He gave Rock a tender hug and then ruffled his hair, and proceeded to give Bass a hug as well, who tensed but didn't fight it, and tousled his hair too, which got a weak huff in protest. Finally he sat down next to Roll, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.

They all looked up as Auto tromped back through the room to the entryway.

Then they all looked down at Blues' scarf on the empty chair.

"I'm still amazed he came back to me," Dr. Light said. "I was so sure he'd been destroyed, all those years ago. That I'd never see him again. I'm… glad I was wrong, and that… even now, that we got the time together that we did."

"Remember how he used to use his shield like a sled?" Roll asked.

They spent the next few hours reminiscing over all their favorite memories of Blues. Occasionally Rock would start crying again, or Bass, or Dr. Light. Roll stayed strong, although it was pretty obvious that she was going to fall apart the moment they went back to their day-to-day lives.

"You feel any better now?" Bass asked Rock suddenly.

"Would you feel better?" He replied, then hung his head. "I don't even know anymore."

"…I didn't mean what I said. About, y'know. Him being the only one of you guys I liked." He crossed his arms. "Roll's okay."

Rock snorted with an almost laugh. "For what it's worth… I know Blues forgave you for all that stuff a long time ago. I did too. It was wrong of me to bring it up."

"No, no, you were right." Then Bass hemmed and hawed and eventually said, "I know I'm gonna regret this. But… I don't got anyone to… uh, well it's not like I get along with any of the other Wily Numbers… I mean, I guess…" The rest of it came out mumbled. "…we should hang out sometime or whatever…"

For the first time in days, Rock had the slightest glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

"For Blues' sake," Bass added quickly. "It's what he'd want. I think."

When they heard Auto's heavy footsteps coming back in from the breezeway, Rock leaned back slightly to call out to him. "Hey, Auto, could you please grab a couple more E-Tanks?"

"I'm over here," Auto said, confused as he popped in from the front entrance, where he'd been waiting so as not to disturb them again.

They all turned back in alarm.

Almost a third of Proto Man's helmet was shattered, his brown hair frazzled and spilling out in every direction, half of the shades gone. His left eye was closed, but it was impossible to tell if that was from damage or because of the missing shade. His armor was in absolutely abysmal shape. A large tear cut down his left side from armpit to his hip, and the better part of his leg was simply gone, which was why he was being half-carried by Quake Woman, unable to support his own weight.

"There was no one in the lab," Quake Woman said. "None of you would answer your coms. Is something wrong?"

"Oh good, you found my scarf." Proto Man brightened at the sight of it. Then noticed everyone staring at him. "…What?"

Roll shrieked in excitement and launched herself at them before anyone else could move. Bass quickly followed, caught up in the moment, forgetting any pretense of being cool or edgy. Dr. Light stood and nearly fell, shaking as he hurried over and pulled the four of them into an embrace. Auto made his way to the group and placed a hand on Blues' shoulder, then looked at Rock and shook his head towards the others, gesturing for him to join them.

Rock sat there, frozen in place, tears streaming down freely, enormous grin plastered across his face. He couldn't believe it. He didn't dare.

"Wait, you guys… you guys didn't think…? Hey, I know I'm not the strongest Robot Master around, but give me some credit! Did you think I'd go out that easily?" Proto Man asked.

Slowly Rock got to his feet, and felt almost as if he were floating as he bound across the room. Roll and Bass and Quake Woman moved a little to each side as he threw his arms around his brother's neck, laughing through his tears.

Once they were all together, Auto glomped on— mindful of Dr. Light— and lifted them a little off the floor, swaying side to side before setting everyone back down.

"BLUES YOU'RE ALIIIIIIIIVVVVEEEEE!" Roll cried.

"Yeah? It's great knowing that you're loved and all, but I'd really like to get repaired…"

"That's just gonna have to wait!" Then she pinched him. "How could you scare us like that!"

"If you don't get that damn core fixed, I'm gonna kill you," Bass said.

"Not if I get to him first," said Rock, then he started laughing again.

Quake Woman gave Proto Man a stern look. "Actually, I might do it before the rest of you can."

"I get it! I get it! Sheesh! I'll think about it."

Tangled and a little smushed between Quake Woman and Auto, Bass suddenly glared at Rock and worked one hand free to gently shove him. "I take back what I said."

"What, about hanging out? Uh-uh! Nope. No take backs!"

#bassrockweek2022 #bassrock #mega man fanfic #mega man #bass megaman #roll megaman #proto man #blueberry #cobra chicken #cinnamonroll #dope rides alone #my fanfic #/spoiler alert: this is NOT tagged 'major character death' on A03 #/what if bass is a sympathy crier and it ticks him off to no end

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assorted-fics · 2 years

Text

Fics of the Week

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Chit Sang's brother fought in the 41st division. Unknowingly, Zuko had become a beacon of hope to those in the Fire Nation whose family had perished in the needless war, to the people who wished for a Fire Lord who will fight for their people instead of power. Chit Sang feels the need to let Zuko know this.”

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It didn’t seem to occur to anyone that she too was the daughter of Fire Lady Ursa.

She half listens to Zuko throw his tantrum to get her to leave but Azula just sighs.

Zuko was too soft-hearted—too naïve to understand what she wanted from him.

It's always been easy for Zuko to garner people's affection. He had Mother's before she'd ran off and Uncle took him under his wing as if he was his own. It's stupid, and she hates him for it. Azula enjoyed watching him try to catch up to her, try to gain their father's approval like a stupid little turtle-duck.

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portrait of a man on fire by cassiopeia

“In the wake of joining the Avatar, Zuko grapples with his identity.

Who is Zuko, if not the prince of the Fire Nation?

Under Sokka’s plan, no one will see their faces—not guards or prisoners or even the prison cooks. Still, Zuko can’t help but wonder what his—what the people of the Fire Nation would think, how they would act, if they saw him again.

For most of his banishment, the only Fire Nation people he interacted with were the crew of the Wani, who all resented being commanded by someone so young and hot-tempered. Even when he returned to the capital, he didn’t actually see that many other people. Those who he did see seemed to respect him—but that was when they believed he killed the Avatar. He’s sure that if any of them had seen him during his banishment, they would have treated him with contempt.

And now that he’s betrayed them all? Zuko can only imagine their disgust.”

close your eyes by andromeda3116

“for your eyes will only tell you the truth, and the truth is not what you want to see. –- Kanna escapes the Northern Water Tribe and travels south, always south.”

forgive my northern attitude by queersoverbeers

“Hakoda was not sure what he expected to find in this slowly approaching Fire Nation sailboat, but what he did find was certainly very far down on the list: A young boy, perhaps younger than his own son, with a bandage covering his eye, shaking violently in a fever-induced delirium.

“What does this mean?” Bato said, using the dull end of his spear to poke the boy's shoulder.

“Mom,” The boy weakly cried.

“I have no idea,” Hakoda said, feeling every bit as horrified as he always did when he learned something new about the Fire Nation.]

Or,

With Iroh wandering the globe after the death of his son, some of the events of Avatar: The Last Airbender get off to a late start— and get a little tangled along the way.”

Azula’s Angels by lookingkindofdumb

“When cornered in The Chase Azula switches from hunting the Avatar to kidnapping her brother. For his own betterment, of course. She can't have her brother slumming it in the Earth Kingdom.

Or, Appa and Zuko's life changing field trip.”

Voyage by amoeve

“When Zuko asks Katara to marry him, it is for love. But it’s also an alliance that shows the world that the war is truly over, and everyone wants to get in on the fun.

Everyone also wants them to observe every single tradition that the Fire Nation and Water Tribe have ever thought up for marriages, “to honour each others’ cultures and encourage a new era of harmony and understanding”.

It sounds reasonable until Iroh and Hakoda start handing them helpful transcriptions of ancient ethnographic texts.”

#avatar: the last airbender #atla #Atla fic recs #harry potter #Harry Potter fic recs #marvel #spiderman #Spiderman fic recs #marvel fic recs #fics of the week #avengers #mcu #fic recs

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birdofdawning · 2 years

Text

The Ghost Who Wrote to The Times

(Okay so I wanted to write one of those Victorian short stories where the men are all gathered at their club smoking cigars or the young women are sitting in their old nursery after a ball, and someone starts telling an odd story. And I wanted it to be Bering and Wells, but with Our Myka, not an anachronistic Myka I had to explain away.

So. It’s the current year and our heroes retired into civilian life some time ago, having come out of their Warehouse careers mostly intact in mind and body (perhaps Myka’s leg sometimes hurts in bad weather; perhaps Pete hesitates before he goes anywhere underground…). And they are at a dinner party at a restaurant.

The narrator — these stories must always have an anonymous narrator — only knows them slightly. As for the other characters, they only exist in this story and I wouldn’t recognise them if I passed them on the street.

“I knew a ghost who wrote letters to The Times” said H.G.

No-one responded. The conversation — general complaints about public transport in San Francisco — had died a few minutes earlier and no-one seemed too keen to start it up again. Most of us had indulged a little too heavily by this point and were starting to feel tired; even Pete Latimer was staring blankly into his coffee. The waiting staff had been pointedly clearing the dishes off the table and Ivan had just mentioned his early start. We were obviously about to call it a night.

“The ghost was of an acquaintance who died. Of illness” H.G. went on after a moment, “There was no question about the matter. My brother attended his service. And yet the next month, and regularly, for a time, after that, the dead man continued to send correspondence to the editor of The Times.”

There was a pause, and then Josie said “This isn’t going to be one of those stories that you start telling and then Myka and Pete make loud coughing noises and change the subject? With lots of meaningful glares? Because national security or whatever?”

“Oh I hope not,” said Myka, eyes closed.

“Alright,” Josie sat back in her chair. “How was your dead man writing to The Times? Was it a scam or something?”

“No, no,” assured H.G. “No scam. The letters were all quite in his style. And were written with the insights and ideas that had caught people’s attention in the first place.”

Myka began restraightening her place setting. “And you would like to tell us all about it.”

“Oh, please, can you? Can she? It sounds so intriguing!” Ivan’s friend (whose name I never caught) had only met H.G. that night and was Enamoured. We were used to the phenomenon.

“Oh, well, if you’re interested!” said H.G. brightly, signalling the poor hovering wait staff for another glass of wine, “briefly, of course, and with, perhaps, a few interesting observations I may have made at the time.”

Myka sighed, and H.G. sat back in her chair and regarded us with the air of someone about to give small children a treat.

“My ghost’s name was… well, I shall call him Quentin Quillian Quire. Which is a funny name for me to choose, but you will see why in a moment. Now Quentin Quillian Quire was a Cambridge man with a first in mathematics, and an inquiring mind. He made his living setting exams and writing primers and textbooks for students. And he had very progressive ideas about… oh, socialism and feminism and colonial restitutions and that sort of thing, all of which he shared loudly and liberally with all about him.”

“Aren’t people like that such a joy?” said Myka.

“He was a regular correspondent to the editor of The Times” went on H.G, who seemed not to have heard, “and was beginning to make a name for himself as a Voice of Reform. And not without reason; his letters were plainly written but filled with such earnest description of the realities of life for millions of Londoners, that they really caught the attention of the reformers at the time, if not the Public At Large. Charles (my brother, you know) knew him fairly well — they were both members of a socialist organisation — and they often attended meetings together. I met him once or twice, perhaps, and thought him a little excitable but pleasant enough.

“And then Quentin Quillian Quire got sick. It took hold quickly and he was dead in six weeks. It shocked everyone. Charles went to the service, as I said, and he said it was almost all fellow socialists. The only family member who attended was an uncle who seemed to disprove of the service, the attendees, and of Quentin Quillian Quire himself for (we assumed) having the presumption to die without consulting the family first. All and all a dour matter.”

“They didn’t approve of left wing politics?” wondered Ivan, “Is that why the family…?”

“I haven’t the Earthliest idea. I imagine they did not. Either way they were determined to have as much to do with him while he was dead as they had while he was alive — which I strongly suspect was very little, since he didn’t have anyone… but that comes later.”

“Later?” said Pete. “Hasn’t he just died?”

“He has indeed, Pete. Now. This was when Charles and I had only been in London for a few months. Charles was tutoring and trying his hand at a little journalism on the side, and I was a machinist in…” She stopped abruptly and blinked several times, seemly trying to regain her thread.

“At a tech start up?” offered Myka, “This would have been about twenty-five years ago I’m assuming?”

“Did they have tech start ups twenty-five years ago?” wondered Pete, and Myka shot him a level glare and said that of course they did, even if they weren’t called that yet.

Josie rolled her eyes. “You’re both using that retired government spook ‘this is a code’ tone again and we can all hear it.”

“’Government spooks?’” gasped Ivan’s friend.

“Hardly a ‘start up’,” contradicted H.G, ignoring her, “I was working for a family firm that made precision machine innards — the things that go inside barometers and clocks and gages and so-on. I learned a lot about craftmanship and even more low Italian. But that’s not important. Anyway, Charles and I stayed with an Aunt and our cousin Isabel in a little house near Regent’s Park, and were (on the whole) very happy. And, as we had started rolling our vowels, we been taken up by the younger representatives of literary London and it was not uncommon for a friend or two who found themselves in our neighbourhood to call in around suppertime for a drink and a chat. Fortunately our aunt habitually retired early and was a little deaf, so we could remain unchaper—”

Myka cleared her throat, and H.G. hurriedly carried on “But yes, to my point. One evening we were entertaining a dear friend, J. We were drinking very indifferent brandy and talking about people we knew and what was wrong with them, and J pulled out The Times to show us… Oh, I don’t know, something he didn’t like in the letters column. And Charles said ‘Oh, look at this, isn’t it queer?’ and pointed to a letter on the other page.”

“I love how all H.G’s stories sound like Victorian pastiches,” Josie shared with me in a loud aside, “The sheer Britishness seeps out of her.”

“I think it’s mostly affectation,” said Myka.

“We looked at where he was pointing,” said H.G, repressively, “and saw a long comment on… the benefits of co-education I think. But it was signed ‘Q. Q. Quire, Holborn’. ‘Well?’ I said, ‘I should say I think I agree with Mr Quire once again; but I don’t see why you should make such a fuss about him.’ But J was quicker than I. ‘That is odd’, he said, ‘it’s his politics and quite in his style too. Is someone playing a game? Because I don’t think it very funny’. And then, of course, I did see. Q. Q. Quire was dead.”

“… He’d sent it before he died, and it had only been published,” guessed Ivan’s friend.

“No, but that is an excellent guess, my dear! You may have an almond.” H.G kindly offered her the bowl she had captured earlier in the evening. “Quire had been dead over a month at this point, and The Times is a daily paper. Moreover, it was responding to a letter that had appeared only a few days earlier.”

“And I’m guessing his actual name was as distinctive as Q. Q. Quire?” mused Myke, obviously getting interested now despite herself. “A co-incidence was unlikely?”

“Indeed.” Giving Myka a quick sideways glance, H.G. carelessly swirled her wine in her outstretched hand and looked pleased with herself. “Well now,” she went on, “Wasn’t that an odd situation? A dead man writing to The Times. Charles and J asked around, but nobody knew anything. And Quire’s death appeared quite genuine, with nothing notable about it. It was, sadly, unremarkable for the time.”

“Why, what was happening at the time?” asked Ivan with a frown. “This was, when, the late Nineties?”

“Oh, ‘Cool Britannia’!” gushed Ivan’s friend, “Blur and Pulp! Suede! Oh, you must have seen some great concerts!”

“Quite.” said H.G. “I was an inveterate concert-attender. Now, J knew the assistant editor at The Times — the one who dealt with the actual letters sent to the Editor — and he confirmed that it was definitely the same writer. It was the same careful hand on each letter. But there was another interesting thing: he (the assistant editor) seemed quite unsurprised that Quire was still writing. Because he was entirely unaware that Quire had died.”

“He’s not really dead!” yelled Pete, causing Ivan’s friend to knock over her glass.

“He’s really and truly dead,” said H.G, passing Ivan’s friend her napkin. “Quire simply wasn’t well known enough to Society At Large for his demise to have caused much of a splash. Other than his socialist friends, no-one seemed to be aware of him except as a gentleman who argued a lot in the letters column of The Times. And the family only placed a death notice in a local parish newsletter.”

“What did the assistant editor say when your friend told him that Quire was dead?” asked Ivan’s friend.

“Ah, but he did not tell him!” said H.G, patting her hand indulgently, “No, my dear, it was just too wonderful and strange. We wanted to see what would happen next!” She reached for her wine.

Myka rested her chin on her hand. “Huh.”

“Wot,” said H.G, glass half raised.

“Oh, I was just wondering...”

H.G. narrowed her eyes “Were you.”

“Yes. I was wondering… who decided to write a story about it first?” inquired Myka slyly.

H.G. smiled. “Well, now that you mention it…” she said, examining her wineglass nonchalantly, “We may have perhaps jotted down a few idle notions one evening. Purely outlines you understand. Nothing to speak of really...”

“Oh of course!” agreed Myka, “just a few outlines. By you and your friends. Many years ago. And I guess you’ve forgotten the details now, after so long. Your memory…”

“My memory is excellent, darling,” bristled H.G. “Let me see.”

“Wait,” said Pete, “this other guy, Jay, do you know who he is too? Is that why you’re getting all me when I spot a new food truck?”

“Yeah,” said Myka, “He’s a food truck. But I’ll tell you another time. Or we’ll be here all night.”

H. G. was staring blankly across at a poster of the Bosphorus and frowning. “J came up with a very silly story, all Stevenson and ‘Bagdad on the Thames’,” she said after a moment. “He decided that a group of men, inspired by the writings of Q. Q. Quire (whose name must only be spoken in reverential whispers), had formed a secret society to carry on the blessed work of the ‘Benefactor of All Mankind’. Each member was the guardian of a sentence written by Quire, and every Thursday night the secret Brotherhood of Qs would come together in the darts room of a local pub and randomly bring their sentences together in a new order — I forget how, but it was very funny — and send the resulting text to the Times so all could read the Master’s words anew!” H. G. sniggered, remembering; then, noticing our bemused faces, she looked faintly apologetic. “Ah, yes. Well. It was very funny at the time. To us”

“What about Charles?”

H.G. frowned. “Oh, he wrote some rather insipid tale about… the ghost of Quire lingering in the house, and somnambulism, and Quire’s landlady doing automatic writing or some such...” she waved her fingers vaguely.

“And you…?” Myka was leaning forward intently.

Pete frowned “I know that look.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Pete.”

He studied her for a moment, then turned to the rest of us. “Yeah, it took me a while in the early days, I admit. But once H.G. showed up I realised: That face? is Myka’s makin’ time—”

Myka thrust a finger into his face. “You finish that sentence Latimer, and I swear to god—!” She lunged for the empty Turkish Delight bowl, “I will stab you. In the arm. With this tiny fork.”

Pete, who had just opened his mouth, closed it again.

“I believe I was telling a story,” H.G. interjected mildly.

“Yeah, yeah you were. Sorry. Carry on,” said Myka, still eyeballing Pete.

“Thank you,” said H.G. She thought a moment. “Though in fairness to Pete, darling, I must admit that you do—" Myka waved her fork in the air. “Yes, well. Let me see.” Helena frowned.

“You wrote a story,” reminded Ivan’s friend.

“That’s right. I wrote rather an odd story — well, an outline, really — about how Quire had actually been electrocuted while setting up a telegr— that is, a telephone… and his consciousness was now spread throughout the telephone network… a blind, dreaming mind using the electrical system as a massive brain. Caught up in fragmented memories. And every now and then, when the connections were right, the mind of Quentin Quire would remember itself enough to compose another missive to the editor of the Times, as it had done so often before. And this would arrive at the newspaper the next day as a cable.”

“Helena!” Myka’s eyes were shining. “Did you invent transhumanism when you were nineteen?”

“I don’t know,” said H.G, startled. “Did I?”

(But Ivan said, no, that would be nice wouldn’t it? However Mary Shelley… And Myka interrupted to explain that he had misunderstood and here is what she actually meant… And Ivan said Ah, but mid-Century Science Fiction… And the rest of us looked vacantly at our wine glasses until Pete said Hey if I wanted to listen to English professors argue I would have become a janitor at the U like my dear old mother always wanted. How about we save the work talk for Monday and hear about this ghost.)

“Well then, apparently I didn’t,” said H.G. “And anyway, it was a crude piece. I couldn’t work out how his consciousness — the electro-chemical impulses in the nerves of his brain — got to be mapped onto the electrical network in the first place. So I left it.” She shrugged.

“It wouldn’t explain the handwriting anyway,” Ivan’s friend enthused.

“No.” said H.G.

“But you brother’s story would have! Because the possessed person…”

“Quite,” said H.G, reclaiming the almond bowl. “But as I was saying. We entertained ourselves for an evening and then went on with our lives. And then what do you think happened?"

Pete spread his hands wide. “Something came down the chimney! And it was… Mary Poppins! And she said ‘Oh Helena, you’re so clever and witty and obviously brush your hair one-hundred times every night, do make me a cup of tea, my dear, with just a hint of milk, and perhaps some of those little scone-things—'”

Myka threw a napkin at him, and Josie caught it and made as if to push it into his mouth.

“Another letter was published,” guessed Ivan.

“It was. One afternoon J bursts in waving a journal. ‘Look at this’ he says. We obligingly look at this. There, in the letters column, is another polemic by one Q. Q. Quire. On the plight of unmarried women being abandoned by society, with several quite practical things society could do to help said women, if society did want to help such women. Which it didn’t.

“And I was struck by how… important this was to the writer. Charles’ friends meant well, they truly did. But their ideas were so grand and unwieldly, requiring sweeping social transformation; and were, I’m afraid, largely ignorant of the everyday struggles of the working class. But Quire’s writings weren’t like that. They showed an honesty and realism about the problems—"

H.G. broke off. “Forgive me, you’re just wanting to hear a story. Yes, so. I was intrigued anew by Quire’s passion. Had he always written like that? I couldn’t recall. I determined to find out.”

I sat up. “Did you use a microfiche?!” I asked eagerly.

“No! But wouldn’t that have been fun! No, I visited a library and read through their back-copies of The Times.”

Myka frowned. “Was it tricky getting access to—?” She shock her head, “No, you can tell me later. You did a textual analysis of previous letters?”

“I suppose I did! Quire had been writing semi-regularly for almost two years. He used a good solid style of argument straight from the schoolroom — outline the problem, provide examples, offer blame and/or solutions, conclusion: ‘I hope all intelligent Englishmen will agree with me that this sad state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue, etc, etc’. And there were several clichéd phrases he was fond of, and once you noticed this you kept tripping up over them. All in all his style was pedestrian but utilitarian.

“And, to begin with, he stuck to the talking points of any good Fabian. “More exposure to the arts to raise the consciousness of the working classes” and so-on. But then, about eight months into his campaign — in October — something changed. It began very small: an anecdote about the personal safety of several female staff in private households. Not the sort of thing a good middle class socialist tended to think about in those days. And it continued from there: how employers could hold their crucial letters of recommendation over the heads of departing employees… the cruel attitude to mental health and addiction… the brutally long hours staff were expected to work. And the way he described these things… It gave the letters a… a weight… an impressiveness that couldn’t help but strike the reader. And an urgency! You felt that something ought to be done — immediately done! — to improve the situations he spoke of.” H.G. shook her head, as if to dislodge her thoughts.

Then, regarding us all with a rather condescending smile, she leant on the table and steepled her fingers. “Now it seemed to me that these insights into the life of the poor were more than one would expect a vague middle class mathematician to have noticed. So I posited that he had been speaking to someone who actually knew what it was to be a cleaner or a maid. And I wondered who.”

Ivan nodded. “Yes, obviously. Did he use a cleaning service?”

H.G. frowned and shot him a look. “Yes, actually, as it happens, I knew that the rooms Quire rented used live-in cleaners. So I determined that would be my first place of inquiry.I proceeded to locate and interrogate the landlady.”

Myka frowned. “Hum. So a busy property manager… gotta be a lotta stuff on her mind... and then here’s some teenager with machine oil on her t-shirt showing up asking questions about previous tenants. I have to wonder if she was that happy taking the time out of her day to be ‘interrogated’ by, well, by a child?”

“We shall never know, Myka,” replied H.G. leaning towards her, “because I didn’t approach her as a teenager with machine oil on her t-shirt.”

“No?”

“No. You see, I approached her…” She lowered her voice. “… déguisé.”

They grinned at each other.

“MA!” Pete yelled at Josie, pointing, “They’re doing that staring at each other thing again! In French! And I just ate!”

Myka punched him in the arm, while Josie carefully explained what would happen if he ever called her ‘Ma’ again.

“Yes,” H.G. continued over the noise, “I wore my best dress and hat, and took some of Charles’ socialist books. And I knocked on the door of Mr Quire’s former residence as Mrs Edith Bland, come to return some literature borrowed from Mr Quire before my recent trip abroad.” And her already clipped accent seemed to become even more refined as she spoke. “So, the landlady—”

“The property manager,” corrected Myka.

“The property manager was summoned to inform me that, sadly, Mr Quire had passed on some two months previous, and here was the address of his family if I wished to pay my respects and return his property.

“‘Oh no!’ said Mrs Edith Bland, paling attractively at the news, ‘Poor Mr Quire! Was it an accident?’ No no, said our friend the property manger, Mr Quire died of an illness, most unexpected. ‘Oh how awful,’ said Mrs Bland. ‘But, do you know, I am not at all surprised: he was such an unlucky fellow! I remember saying the same thing—’ (this is a clever bit Pete, pay attention) ‘—saying the same thing last October or was it September, when he injured his hand. And it took so long to heal, I dare say because he would keep working! I did warn him to rest it — his brothers and sisters in the reform movement would take up the slack meantime! But he would keep writing his letters…!’”

(“Mrs Bland wasn’t afraid of a little light conversation,” observed Josie.

“No she was not,” said H.G. with a smirk.) “’Oh but Mrs Bland,’ said our excellent property manager, ‘you understand he didn’t write those letters himself. At least, they were his words but he didn’t hold the pen if you see what I mean. Susan, one of my cleaners, did it on her afternoon off. She has a fair hand and I believe Mr Quire paid her something for each bit of writing she did for him.’”

There were murmurs of understanding around the table. “That explains the handwriting!” said Ivan’s friend, and Josie slapped the table, crowing “So it was a scam! Like I said at the start!”

H.G. looked thoughtful. “No, I really wouldn’t describe it as such. Not really. Because… Well, I’ll finish and then you can decide.”

“You asked to speak to Susan, of course,” said Myka.

“I tried. Lord knows what excuse I would have come up with for me to do so, but I didn’t get that far. The property manager became rather grim and said that she had had to let Susan go. That the silly girl had gotten ideas above her station and that was one thing that she (the property manager) would not abide with.”

“How old-fashioned!” exclaimed Ivan’s friend.

“Well, the Nineties in England was an old fashioned place.”

“Thatcher,” nodded Ivan perceptively.

“Anyway, there was no more to be gotten from the property manager. So I carried on with my own work. I had an actual job, you remember. And I waited until Sunday afternoon.”

“You questioned the other cleaners on their day off,” said Pete.

“I did. And they had heard that Susan had found a new place at a… well, a motel. A motel near Farringdon Station. So off I went.”

Suddenly H.G. stopped and regarded us all sternly. “You people don’t walk anymore! You just jump into your cars and drive around. I believe you’d live in your cars if you could. You’re like infants. Now listen to me, I used to walk miles every day and—"

“So off you went,” interrupted Myka.

“What? Oh, yes, I went to the coaching hou—”

“Motel”

“—Motel, and asked for Susan Goode.”

“This time disguised as a stable-hand!” shouted Josie. “No, a street urchin! No, a mysterious dominoed lady, possibly of aristocratic bearing!”

H.G. gave her a superior look. “I was dressed as the daughter of a Kentish shopkeeper. Which I was. Am.”

“In her crop-top and One-Star shoes,” suggested Pete.

“And enormous trousers,” said Myka.

“With cargo pockets,” said Pete.

“All of this and more,” assured H.G. with a majestic wave of her hand, “I was indeed a vision as I stood in Clerkenwell Road asking for Susan.

“I remember that she was out but they said they were expecting her back soon, and that I could wait in the kitchen. And when she did arrive… well, to cut a long story short I simply introduced myself and put it to her that she was writing to The Times as Quentin Quire. She denied it at first, but not for very long. You see, she was proud of what she was doing. She believed in it. She believed that she was carrying on Quire’s work.”

“The staff are starting to clean up,” I observed.

“I’m almost finished. And not before time too: I have to be out at Miramar tomorrow morning to test a Thing — Oh, I meant to tell you about that!” she said turning to me, “It’s really quite exciting — an old idea of mine. Rather brilliant, actually. You know those turbines…”

Myka nudged her elbow. “SUSAN!”

“Of course, yes. Quite right. But make sure you ask me about it next week!” she pointed at me emphatically.

“Ha. H.G’s schnockered,” said Josie.

“You’re all schnockered,” said Pete, fondly.

“I’m not schnockered! I switched to water! I switch to water ages ago!” Myka huffed.

“So. Susan?” encouraged Ivan’s friend.

“’The Problem of Susan’” said Ivan.

H.G. raised her eyebrows but apparently decided to ignore him. “Yes. So, I suggested to Susan that Mr Quire had asked her to write his letters for him after he had hurt his hand. And she admitted that yes, that was how they started but then his hand had gotten badly infected, so she carried on. And then, when it had gotten better, Mr Quire had said that she was quite the little muse and that he didn’t see why they shouldn’t continue as they had been.”

Pete frowned “Wait, I’m not sure I like the sound of that. We sure this Quire was a good guy? Why was the girl fired again?”

“No no, I really don’t think there was anything like that happening. Quire was quite an innocent in his way. But I only met him the once.”

“What was Susan like?” asked Ivan’s friend.

“Oh, small, smaller than me, anyway. Maybe a year or two older. Blonde. Unremarkable to look at, perhaps. But shrewd, practical, quick. She understood the world very well. Her only weak spot seemed to be Quire — she adored him in the truest sense of the word.”

(“That means she worshiped him like a god” Myka whispered to Pete. “You know, you won’t believe this, but I did actually go to college,” Pete whispered back. “Of course you did, baby, of course you did, you ignore the mean lady,” whispered Josie, patting his shoulder kindly.)

H.G. was gazing at her empty glass musingly.

“Susan,” prompted Myka again, gentler now.

“Susan.” H.G. looked blank for a moment, then found her thread again. “Yes, Susan couldn’t say enough about Quire. He would have become a Great Man, and she knew that Providence had a plan for us all, but it was a tragedy that Mr Quire had been taken from us before he could begin his reforms. And Mr Quire really cared about those from the lower stations like her; and he never minded her stopping their writing to tell him about something that had happened to her or someone she knew, but he actually used these stories to make people pay attention more, and want to do something to help. And Mr Quire took the time to show her how to write an argument so people would understand, and he said she showed a real talent for it, imagine! And so-on.

“And when I had really won her confidence she told me that Mr Quire had spoken to her of how the plight of the underclass was going to come to an end shortly, and soon the workhouse doors would be thrown open and all the men and women would be welcomed into society—”

“Wait, the workhouse?” asked Ivan.

“I expect she was speaking metaphorically,” explained H.G. “Anyway, Quire had won over a devout believer in Susan. She spent her only afternoon off sitting with him and helping him construct letters that would Reform Society.”

“Until she was fired,” said Myka.

“Until she was fired. Which can’t have been too long before Quire had become sick. I fancied I could point to the exact week — Quire abruptly stopped talking about social reform and began explaining how the train service could be made more efficient.” She smiled at us. “Which was what made me remember this in the first place — you all complaining about the subway.”

Josie threw up her hands. “Hey, someone needs to do something! This week I was late to work four mornings in a row! And I’m the manager, I’m supposed to be setting an example!”

“You need a Q. Q. Quire,” said Myka.

“You could be a Q. Q. Quire!” suggested Pete. “’Be the Quentin Q Quire you wish to see in the world’.”

“Did Susan know Quire had died?” asked Ivan’s friend.

“Ye–es…” H.G. screwed her eyes up, trying to remember. “Yes, I don’t remember how she had found out. But she wouldn’t have written her own letters otherwise. Because she felt so strongly that his work was important and that it had to continue. That it would make a difference.”

She frowned suddenly. “And the funny thing… the ridiculous thing… was that she believed she was simply following Quire’s teaching. That she didn’t matter at all — it was still Quire writing in her mind. She didn’t see that what had made his writing so…” she gestured violently, “so… effective! So persuasive in the first place! …was her.”

There was a silence.

After a moment Ivan’s friend said “So Jay… his story… was sort of right after all. In a way, I mean. The secret society worshiping Q. Q. Quire.”

H.G. smiled wearily at her. “Yes, perhaps. In a way.” She blinked for a moment. “You may have another almond,” she decided, magnanimously.

“What happened to Susan? Did she keep writing?” asked Josie.

H.G. looked down. “I don’t know. When we parted she certainly intended to carry on. I remember that. It was the most important thing in the world to her. And I meant to see her again, when we both had the time. Another Sunday afternoon. But then suddenly I was pregnant, and having to leave my lovely job, and Charles was being an oaf about it, and to be quite honest, I forgot all about her. Until tonight.”

She looked up and gave us another smile. “That’s not a good ending. How about this: And we never again saw ‘Q. Q. Quire’ corresponding with the Editor in the letters column of The Times.”

There was another pause. We all seemed to be trying to think of something to say.

“That was so interesting! A real little mystery!” Ivan’s friend offered after a moment.

“It was sort-of a scam,” said Josie, “in a way.”

“I hadn’t realised how backward labor relations were in Britain at that time,” frowned Ivan, “This under New Labour?”

“I’m going to pay the bill,” said Myka, looking over at the wait staff.

Pete had been giving H.G. a measured look. After a moment he said “So what I’m hearing is that a dead guy gets the credit for all the work a woman put in.” And then, more softly, “Seems like there’s a lot of that going around.”

H.G. gave a short laugh. “Perhaps. I don’t know. Thinking about it all again, I’m wondering if it’s more…” She broke off to consider. “More about a dreamer who thought he had so many wonderful ideas to share with the world. And then he left. And someone who loved him had to carry on the work alone.” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve had too much wine.”

Pete nodded slowly. But as we all stood to collect our jackets and bags, he said “I guess maybe Charles was sometimes an okay guy?”

“Sometimes,” agreed H.G. “Maybe sometimes he was.”

Before the big glass doors Myka steadied H.G. and helped her on with her coat. “That was alright, wasn’t it?” asked Helena. “Telling that story? You liked it, didn’t you?”

“I like all your stories,” said Myka, kissing her forehead.

Then she took her wife’s hand and they stepped out into the night.

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #myka bering #h.g. wells #helena wells #They've retired #I really don't know what I'm doing #Any and all corrects to my American English welcomed #Helena gets drunk at a resturant and starts talking #Okay so apparently Wells didn’t join the Fabians until 1903 but whatever

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loosesodamarble · 1 year

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My beloved

Josele,

Though I know it's something I can never have, nor anything you should burden yourself with, I do love you. That very confession has been haunting me for years. Not for what it is, but who speaks it out. Because you deserve so much better than my wretched being, someone who is not tainted with the blood of their brother; someone whose hands are not tainted by the blood of any.

I know I have no right to love you. I never had that right. Never. Not even before you and my brother joined hands with the intention to wed. But even less after those, poisonous accusations I spoke to you in my own stead. For those words, I should have spoken out to myself. And yet I spoke them to you, the one I hold dearest. You're the one good thing in my life, even if I can only watch you from afar; these shadows that should encase me sooner.

I know I have no right to love you, and yet... here I am, loving you anyhow.

My only solace with this confession is that you'll never read these words. You'll never know of this confession. Because...

Because.

Though it hurts now, it would be worse, would I tell you. Your life was always meant to be one of light and laughter. And I know that it s dark now. But soon it shall be better. As one who resides in the shadows, I can promise you, that your soul is not meant for this life.

So, I love you, by doing the one good thing I still can do to you: let you go. This is how I love you, the only way in which I have the right to attempt to love you.

Though you shall never read these lines, I must ask for forgiveness. It is selfish of me to put them down onto paper, and not just swallow them as what they are.

I love you, Josele.

I wish you nothing but joy, smiles and laughter, after this darkness subsides. And it will subside, even if I'd have to pull it from you with my own, two, sinner's hands.

- With love, Nacht

Finding Words

Summary: The words that were never said are brought to Josele and she has her own words to say back. Genre: hurt/comfort (kind of but straightforward romance or angst didn't quite work) Word count: ~1300

..........

Josele read the letter once. Twice. Again and again, she took in the ink that curled into writing.

Each and every word was so gentle, she could feel it. She could hear the words being spoken by the man who wrote them. Though they were years old, by the way the paper had aged, the words were brand new to Josele.

Josele read the letter over and over. Until she was sure she had the words permanently imprinted into her mind and etched into her heart. The letter… It made her heart ache. But also dance. What a strange yet powerful sensation, one that Josele wanted to keep and treasure. Her vision began to blur from gathering tears. Josele pressed the paper to her chest before her tears could fall on it and stain the words thereon.

"Lady Josele! Has reading the letter upset you?" Gimodelo asked as he, and the rest of Nacht’s devils, floated around her shoulders.

“We’re sorry for making you cry!” Walgner squeaked.

“No, no.” She shook her head as she spoke. “I’m fine, you guys.”

Josele looked at the four devils. They watched her with worried faces. How kind they were despite the world they came from and the lives they lived.

“The letter is wonderful. Are there any more?” Josele asked softly. “Letters like this, I mean.”

Gimodelo, Plumede, Slotos, and Walgner shared looks between themselves before looking back at Josele. The feline devil floated forward.

“This was the only letter that the Master refused to send you,” she answered. “All others reached you without complication.”

Josele nodded.

Nacht’s letters from when he was acting as a spy in Spade. They came every now and again. They were barebone in content, describing how Nacht survived in Spade and searched for all the information that might be hidden there regarding devils and curses. Rarely did he ever write about his feelings. And if it ever did, it was to voice frustration at the dead ends he looked into or disgust at the way the Zogratis family treated the citizens.

But this letter. The one that Josele had never read before that day. It was so full of Nacht’s heart, full of his love. A love which was also weighed down by sorrow and guilt when he wrote it.

“All of you… Thank you.” Josele wiped her tears away. “For letting me have this.” She petted each devil on their small head. “I’m going to find Nacht now. I…” She took another look at the letter. “I ought to give him a reply.”

“We shall see you when that happens, then,” Slotos said with a nod.

The devils sank into Josele’s shadow, on their way back to the man they were contracted to.

Left on her own, Josele read the letter one last time.

Nacht had told her that he’d harbored affection for her since their youth. Explained to her that he didn’t feel worthy of her. Yet there was a greater sadness in the letter.

His proclamation that he intended to let her go. To let his love remain hidden away from her, forever unreciprocated. He would’ve resigned himself to watching her from afar if it meant protecting her from harm that he never intended to inflict, but harm that he believed would come about if he allowed himself to hold her close.

If Nacht had done that however, truly buried his feelings… Then Josele would never have been saved.

Her heart would’ve truly remained locked away. Possibly forever.

Josele tilted her head back and took deep breaths.

No. I can’t allow myself to think about that, she scolded herself. Because the life she lived in the present, with her heart once again connected to those she cherishes, was reality. I won’t consider what would’ve happened if Almatra had won.

After freeing her mind from such a heavy thought, Josele left her room.

As she walked, her mind swirled. She had said she’d give Nacht a reply. But what would she even say? She was never that good with speeches. And she didn’t want to give one to Nacht. She simply wanted to say something to answer his withheld confession.

Something to reassure him that his feelings then, and his feelings now, were alright. More than alright really.

But what to say exactly?

“I always loved you”? No, he already knew that. “Don’t be sorry for loving me”? That felt too selfish to say. “You were never in the wrong”? Also not a good idea; though she’d long since forgiven Nacht, his accusation had still hurt. The distance of their hearts had hurt.

Josele stopped in front of a door. Nacht, having become more adjusted to his role as vice captain, was frequently holed away in his office, tending to matters that Yami was too busy—or more often too lazy—to see to himself. She knocked on the door and Nacht’s voice answered her, “Come in.” She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Although the Bulls rarely came to bother Nacht when he was at his desk, she wanted as much privacy for herself and him as could be afforded.

“What brings you to my office today?” Nacht asked. “Official business or were you missing me?”

Their eyes met across the distance between the door and his desk. It was only a few steps but even a few months ago, that small gap would’ve felt like a chasm. But now, Josele could cross the distance with ease.

And so she did.

“What if I thought you might be missing me?” Josele asked back with a teasing grin. She stopped in front of Nacht’s desk. “But actually, I came for something else.”

Josele held out the letter, which she had held behind her back up until that point.

Nacht’s eyes stared at the sheet of paper in confusion before recognition dawned on his face. Recognition and fear.

“Where did you—?”

“The devils gave it to me.”

Nacht’s body tensed and his head turned to the side.

“You… were never meant to see that.”

“I knew that. You said so yourself in the letter.”

Josele glanced down at the letter. But her eyes quickly returned to Nacht. His face had gone pale. Like he’d seen a ghost. Or like he’d become one.

“Nacht.” Josele reached out and placed her hand on his. “Look at me, honey… Please?”

Hesitantly, Nacht raised his eyes. No tears. But the way he seemed ready to look away again… How his lips were pressed together in a thin line… The sound of his heartbeat weakening…

“Thank you for writing the letter,” Josele whispered.

At first, the words felt clumsy, almost silly, as they spilled past her lips. But seeing Nacht’s eyes widen and his shoulders relax at them, she knew they were right.

Josele stroked the back of Nacht’s hand and went on, “Even if you never meant to send it, I have it now. It’s written so beautifully. And so… I’m going to cherish it. Is that alright?”

Nacht’s lips parted, a breath taken in.

“… Why?”

“To remind me of how much you love me.” Josele grinned at Nacht. “You were so far away and yet you didn’t stop thinking of me…”

“I went so far for your sake after all,” Nacht muttered. He turned his hand beneath Josele’s so he could hold it.

“Thank you. Again.” Josele leaned over and pressed her lips to Nacht’s. It was a brief kiss. But sweet. Oh so sweet. She pulled away, but only enough so she could see all of Nacht’s handsomeness. “Because of you, the joy and smiles you wished for me are now in reach.”

“You’re welcome,” Nacht said, smiling.

“Nacht, my shadow prince…”

“I love you, Josele,” Nacht whispered, beating Josele to the words on the tip of her tongue.

Josele’s face warmed up. To hear the proclamation so plainly from Nacht made her heart skip.

“I love you too, Nacht,” she whispered back.

She hoped such words of affection would continue to be said so easily.

#black clover #black clover fanfic #nacht faust #josele canty #black clover oc #nacsele #gimodelo #plumede #slotos #walgner #soda's ocs #questions from the ask box

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